Claire's Hot Uncles
by reneemm
Summary: Set when Sylar thought he was a Petrelli. Angela sends him, Peter & Claire on a family bonding road trip. Cesty love triangle. Do blood-ties matter when you're immortal? Not to Sylar. Will Peter let that happen? Who does Claire really want? Paire & Sylair
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

Chapter One:

Claire tried to watch the scenery as it passed by her window, but the entire state of Nebraska seemed to be one boring never ending cornfield. Tension between her two disturbingly gorgeous uncles was so intense the car nearly vibrated from it. Peter had been scowling all morning, while Sylar kept fighting back his trademark smirk.

Neither said a word to each other, or to her. Claire knew the whole thing was entirely her fault. Well, not exactly. She couldn't be held responsible for her dreams. It's not like she would have ever called out his name on purpose. Just thinking about it made her blush furiously. Could anything be more humiliating?

That morning she'd opened her eyes, realizing in horror that she was awake and had just called out Sylar's name. Claire looked to her left where her uncles were sharing the motel room's other double bed, praying that they were asleep. They weren't. Both of her uncles were looking right at her. She saw their shocked expressions shift into anger on Peter and surprised delight on Sylar. Peter turned his angry glare toward Sylar who held his hands up and shrugged in a "Hey, it's not my fault" gesture. Humiliated, Claire jumped out of bed and hurried towards the bathroom.

"I'm going to, um, take a shower." She mumbled, refusing to make eye contact with either of them again.

Just as she closed the door, Claire heard Sylar ask, amusement thick in his voice, "You want company?" This was followed by "You son of a bitch!" from Peter, then sounds of scuffling. Sylar's taunting voice, "Hey, she's your mom too!" earned a growl from Peter and the sound of a punch being thrown. Claire turned on the shower to drown out the noise.

By the time she left the bathroom, wrapped in a white towel, wishing she'd brought fresh clothes into the bathroom to change into, her uncles were both dressed and silent. Sylar was sitting up against the headrest of their bed, his legs crossed at the ankles, arms crossed in front of him. Peter was standing by the small table near the door, pouring over a map. When she emerged, they both looked up at her. Their looks were . . . heated, definitely not uncle-like looks. They made her feel naked and sexy. While Claire was somewhat used to this from Sylar, seeing it on Peter was unexpected . . . and exciting.

Peter seemed to catch himself, jerking his head away so quickly it just drew more attention to him. Claire went to scavenge for some clean clothes in her duffle bag, determined to ignore both of them and pretend this morning never happened. Sylar's low, gravely, cursedly sexy voice asking her, "Did you enjoy your shower, Claire?" was the last thing she needed. Claire glared daggers at him, but it only seemed to amuse him as his smirk grew into a full smile. She made a hasty retreat into the bathroom to change. Now they were stuck in this car together.

Claire leaned back against the door, legs stretched out across the backseat, cursing her grandmother for insisting they take this little road trip to "get to know one another" and to "welcome Sylar into the family". Technically, they were on a mission for The Company, but driving to Alaska to pick up a dangerous special instead of simply taking a plane, or having Peter fly her there, was really all about doing some family bonding. Claire was pretty sure having a sex dream about her uncle was not the sort of bonding Angela had in mind. But then again, she wouldn't put anything past that woman.

o o o o

Peter was also mentally cursing his mother's insistence on this family bonding trip. He was still having trouble thinking of Sylar as his brother, and this trip certainly wasn't endearing Sylar to him. Especially since this morning's incident with Claire. Peter's hands tightened on the steering wheel. Just thinking about it made him want to strangle Sylar. And it was not because he was jealous. That was not why it bothered him to hear Claire moan Sylar's name. Jealousy had absolutely nothing to do with it.

He'd been telling himself that all morning, but Peter couldn't dispel the sickening feeling that Sylar was right. That Peter wanted to be the man Claire fantasizes about. Damn, he's just as sick as Sylar. She's his niece. His brother's daughter. If only he could just see her in that way, in a healthy, appropriate way. He tried, but Claire certainly wasn't making it easy.

Peter had woken up to the sound of a woman's breathy moans, his body painfully hard. Shaking off the fog of sleep, Peter looked over at Claire. She was still asleep on the motel room's other double bed, having what sounded like a very sexy dream. He turned to his left to see if Sylar was awake. Sylar met his look with a yawn and raised eyebrows. Propping himself on his elbow, Sylar looked past Peter towards Claire. His eyes widened in shock once he realized what was going on.

Unable to resist, Peter turned back towards Claire, whose breathy moans had increased in tempo. When her hand began to trail over her breast, skimming the hard nipple, clearly visible through her thin pink cotton tank top, Sylar let out a breath he'd apparently been holding. Peter couldn't take his eyes away from Claire's hand as it slowly made its way down her stomach and under the sheet that was only pulled up slightly past her hip.

Shamefully, Peter heard himself make a chocked grunt at the moment her hand reached her center. Claire let out a louder moan as she touched herself. Peter's heart raced, his hand tempted to stroke his own rock hard cock. Then she called out a name, Sylar's name. Jealously flashed through him like a wildfire.

Claire's eyes popped open just as Sylar's name died on her lips. Her green eyes widened as awareness of her surroundings hit. They darted over toward Peter & Sylar, no doubt hoping they were still asleep. She blushed crimson when she met their shocked expressions.

With a speed born of what looked like intense embarrassment, Claire almost ran to the bathroom, mumbling "I'm going to take a shower." Peter felt no guilt whatsoever for punching his new brother when Sylar called out to Claire, "You want company?"

Peter's eyes seemed drawn to his rear view mirror like a magnet to its mate. He'd ashamedly tilted it so he could glimpse Claire in the backseat. Of course she had to wear exceedingly short khaki cut-offs. With the backseat all to herself, Claire stretched her sun-kissed legs across the seat, crossed at the ankles, her white Keds keeping time with the music on the radio. He wanted to kiss those gorgeous legs from ankle up to her soft inner thigh. Then he'd . . . fuck. She's your niece, you perv.

Peter had to stop thinking of Claire like that. He'd done it before. After saving her from Sylar at her Homecoming, she'd starred in almost all of his fantasies for months. Then the bombshell hit . . . he found out they were related. Claire went from being too young for now, but hopefully maybe one day, to permanently off-limits.

He remembered the moment he woke up in his parent's house, lying on a chaise in the living room. He opened his eyes and there she was, the girl from his dreams, with her golden hair and intense green eyes, hovering over him like an angel. Peter was seconds away from reaching up to cup the back of her head and pulling her lips to his own. Thankfully, he didn't. His mother and brother would have walked in on a sight he'd never be able to live down. Still, there was a part of him that wished he had kissed her then, before he learned that he could never have her. At least he would have had that one chance to taste her lips without it being a conscious sin.

After that day, Peter had to force his thoughts away from Claire whenever he jerked off. He still had dreams about her, but as the months went by without seeing her, the dreams grew more infrequent. Eventually, Peter was able to get over his obsession with the sexy little cheerleader. At least until this morning, when Claire's moaning touch-fest sent shockwaves straight to his cock. Now his pervy crush was back with a vengeance. And to top it off, it wasn't even reciprocated. Claire had called out Sylar's name, not his. Why did girls always get wet for that whole "bad boy" thing?

Peter was pulled from his thoughts when he heard Claire riffle though her purse. In the rear view mirror, he watched Claire open a little jar of lip balm. His eyes flickered back and forth between the mirror and the road. He was transfixed by her finger dipping into the pink balm, then traveling to her luscious lips. Her fingertip swiped along her full bottom lip, leaving a glistening trail of shine. God, how he longed to kiss those lips, to taste her, devour her. Damn it, was she doing this on purpose to torture him? Peter had to suppress a groan at the thought of those sweet pink lips wrapped around his cock. Speaking of cock, his was painfully hard now. He shifted a bit in his seat, forcing his eyes to stay on the road.

Sick. This is sick. He was a sick, pervy uncle fantasizing about his niece. What made it worse was the suspicion that Sylar was probably having just as inappropriate thoughts, but without the moral turmoil Peter suffered. He told himself repeatedly that Sylar wouldn't sink so low as to actually attempt to seduce Claire. But somehow after killing dozens of innocent people, crossing a line like incest with a grown-up niece you just learned you had didn't seem like such a big deal. He started to wonder what he'd do if Sylar did try such a thing. Would Claire respond to Sylar's advances? The thought made Peter feel murderous. He couldn't let that happen. Peter vowed to do whatever it took to keep Sylar from Claire. Whatever it takes, he would protect her.

The question of who Claire should be with romantically bothered Peter. Claire was potentially immortal. She could live for hundreds of years. And since Sylar took her power, he could live just as long. Peter wasn't as sure about his own immortality. But if he could use Claire's power, it would make sense that he could be equally immortal. Did Claire realize this? If she only considered Sylar as a potential lover because of his ability to be there for her for eternity, would she consider him too? Oh god, what was he thinking? She's your niece. He clenched his jaw, angry at the universe for making her the one thing he can't have, no matter how badly he wanted her.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes.

Chapter Two:

Sylar didn't miss the tormented expressions on Peter's face. His brother was so easy to read. He knew that Peter was torturing himself with thoughts of Claire. Maybe he shouldn't have given him such a hard time this morning. Peter was his brother, after all, and Sylar wanted his friendship.

Thinking back to that morning, Sylar couldn't help but smile. What a way to wake up. Claire moaning, touching herself, his name on her lips. It was beautiful. No matter how much she tried to hate him, her subconscious mind already knew that she was his.

Teasing Peter was too easy. After offering Claire some company in her shower, Peter punched him in the face. It was hilarious. With a fierce look on his pretty boy face, Peter actually said, "If you touch her inappropriately I swear to God I will kill you, even if you are my brother!"

Sylar had chuckled, highly amused by Peter's hypocritical righteous indignation. "The only reason the thought of me touching Claire bothers you so much is because you want to be the one touching her inappropriately."

"How dare you! I'd never do that!"

"But you want to. Not that I blame you. I've been fantasizing about breaking that particular taboo since the moment I learned that my favorite invincible cheerleader was also my niece." Sylar had said this to piss Peter off, but it wasn't a lie. Sylar wanted Claire, badly. He always had. The taboo of being her uncle had nothing to do with it; although, he admitted to himself, it certainly made things more interesting. Sylar continued taunting Peter.

"It's so naughty, isn't it, Peter? Wanting her like we do."

"I am nothing like you! And I do NOT want Claire in that way."

"Maybe if you keep telling yourself that, you'll manage to actually believe it."

"Enough! Let's just not talk about this anymore, you're pissing me off."

"Alright." Sylar lay back against the propped up pillows on his headrest, closing his eyes, smiling softly.

Peter unfolded a map of Nebraska to plan out their route.

A few minutes later, Sylar broke the silence with, "I bet I can seduce her before you can."

Peter growled "Shut up!"

Wanting to illicit an even bigger reaction out of him, Sylar asked, "You think she'd be up for a threesome?"

Peter threw an ashtray at his grinning brother, the impact breaking his nose. As blood fell from his nostrils, Sylar smiled, feeling victorious. Having a brother was fun.

The sound of Claire's shower drew his thoughts back to her. It was almost painful, knowing that Claire was only a few feet away, naked and wet, probably thinking of him. Sylar's groin tightened at the thought. He glanced at Peter, deciding that he shouldn't be the only one to have to suffer. With a smirk he began, "Just think, right now Claire's standing in the shower, hot water caressing her naked skin."

"I'm not listening to you, so just shut the hell up."

"I wonder if she's touching herself, her eyes closed, fingers exploring her body. She could be biting her lip right now to keep from screaming out my name as she makes herself come, imagining I'm in the shower with her, kissing her, fucking her . . ."

"That's enough Sylar!" Peter shouted, a stream of electricity shot out from his hand, sending agonizing jolts through Sylar's body. Sylar clenched his teeth to keep from screaming out loud. When the electricity subsided, Sylar felt a feral, predatory smile grace his lips. With great restraint, he refrained from retaliating with one of the many powers in his arsenal. He really did want to be a good brother.

The trio stopped at a little roadside diner for lunch. When Claire sat in a booth, Sylar slipped in next to her, smirking at Peter who was forced to sit across from them. Claire shifted awkwardly, scooting up against the wall, as far away from Sylar as was possible in the small booth.

Peter glared daggers at Sylar who lifted his eyebrow and grinned. When the waitress came to the table to take their orders, Sylar smiled and flirted with her. Claire rolled her eyes, her lips pressed together tightly. Peter observed this, but tried to ignore the signs of Claire's jealousy.

Sylar did this on purpose, of course, enjoying the look on Peter's face. It was almost too easy to get under his brother's skin. Awkward silence descended upon them once again, interrupted only by the arrival of their lunch. Claire was stubbornly avoiding eye-contact with either of them, focusing instead on the parking lot outside the window. Peter was stiff and serious, looking at his cheeseburger and fries for the most part, but he kept shooting glances over at Claire-- a mixture of concern, desire and guilt in his eyes.

Poor Peter. He's such a boy scout. As if they could help themselves from being attracted to Claire. It's not like they knew her as a child, buying her Barbie dolls for Christmas or taking her to the zoo. They'd both met her as a nearly grown woman; jailbait at 16, but a young woman, and a stranger. Neither of them knew that she was their niece. She was just a girl, a beautiful girl that was only off limits because of her age, or, in Sylar's case, because he was far too interested in exposing her brain and taking her ability to care about her beauty.

Now, well, he was a man and Claire was . . . perfect. Potentially immortal, like him. It didn't matter to him that they were technically related. In a few dozen years, no one who knew would be alive to condemn them. Eventually, Claire would accept that they were destined to be together. Unless, Peter stole her from him. Peter might be just as immortal as he and Claire. And that moral block Peter had against getting romantic with his niece couldn't last forever. Shit.

Sylar's hands curled up into fists underneath the table. He would not give her up. Claire was his, damn it. His! Suddenly, taking his time, letting Claire feel the lonely weight of eternity a bit before closing in didn't seem like such a good plan after all. Waiting could be disastrous. Determination settled over him. Claire would be his . . . and soon.

When Peter left to use the bathroom, Sylar took the opportunity to plant some seeds in Claire's mind. He scooted himself closer to Claire, so that their thighs were pressed against each other. She tensed, like a scared little rabbit, but he had her trapped. Sylar gave Claire a moment to feel his body heat, then he slowly leaned in and whispered in her ear.

"I have dreams about you too, Claire."

"I didn't . . ." Claire blurted out in protest.

"Ssshh . . . Yes, you did. And I can't stop thinking about how sexy you sounded, moaning my name. I'd like to hear that again."

"Don't be ridiculous!" she hissed.

Claire pressed her lips tightly together, then turned to look out the window, intent on ignoring him. That wouldn't do. So he asked, "Are you a virgin, Claire?" That got her to turn wide, shocked green eyes toward him, her mouth agape. "Were you saving yourself for me?"

Outrage flashed across her features. Claire was so beautiful when she was angry. She narrowed fierce eyes at him. "I am not saving myself for you!" He liked her answer. He'd been pretty sure that she was a virgin, since she hadn't had any long term relationships that he knew about, but her answer confirmed it. Sylar would be her first. Her only.

"Are you sure about that?"

"You're my uncle!"

"Hardly. By blood, apparently, but that doesn't bother me."

"Of course it doesn't," Claire muttered. She turned back toward the window, refusing to look at him.

"I can't seem to stop myself from fantasizing about you—about kissing your neck," he gently trailed a finger along the crook of her neck, making her shudder, "maybe giving you a little love bite." Claire's eyes fluttered shut. Sylar leaned closer, his lips grazing the soft skin beneath her ear. He whispered against her skin, "I want to make you come for me." He drew in a deep breath. He loved the way she smelled, like vanilla and suntan lotion and a hint of . . . oh, god. Sylar's cock responded instantly as he recognized the musky scent of feminine arousal.

"God, Claire." Sylar wasn't surprised by the husky tone of his voice. Her scent was driving him insane. "I want to push you against a wall right now and thrust my hard cock into your tight, wet heat. I want to hear you scream out my name as I make you come again and again and . . ." He suddenly pulled away and scooted back along the bench to his original position, not quite fast enough to prevent Peter from seeing it. Oops.

Claire opened her eyes and gasped when she saw Peter nearing their booth. He narrowed his eyes at Sylar, clearly suspicious. Sylar decided he should probably be more discrete from now on in his pursuit of Claire. As fun as it was messing with Peter this morning, he didn't want to provoke his brother into actively competing for her. No sense in making things more difficult for himself. Besides, having Peter make a play for her would be confusing and painful for his Claire; Sylar didn't want her to suffer unneccessarily. Far better to keep things hidden from Peter until Claire was convinced that she belonged to Sylar, and he to her, forever.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes.

Chapter Three:

Awkward. Majorly awkward. There was no other way to describe it. Peter returned from the bathroom in time to see Sylar scooting back away from her along their seat. Claire could feel her cheeks heat from an incriminating blush. Peter looked pissed as he sat down across from them, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed on Sylar.

"Claire, is everything alright?"

"Um-hmm," she forced out in a fake cheerful tone. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Not buying it, Peter kept his eyes on Sylar, who was smirking, naturally.

Peter looked back and forth between them, then finally turned his attention to his lunch. That's when she saw it, the slight sneer on his lips. Claire realized in that moment that Peter wasn't just angry and suspicious; he was disgusted. Oh god, Peter was disgusted by her.

She'd been such an idiot, to think that the look he'd given her that morning when she'd left the bathroom wearing a towel was lust. It had felt like lust at the time, but Claire realized with a sickening clarity that it was really a look of disgust for her, for the way she'd acted during her dream. Peter must think she's such a slut now, and a freak for being attracted to Sylar, her serial killer uncle.

Claire couldn't deny that Peter was right. She was disgusting. She was a perverted freak that was fantasizing about her uncle. There had to be something seriously wrong with her to actually be considering Sylar in that way. No wonder Peter could barely stand to look at her now. Claire had to blink away the beginnings of tears from her eyes.

Why did she ever agree to this family bonding road trip from hell? At first, when her bio-grandmother suggested the trip, Claire had scoffed at the idea. "How can you ask me to treat Sylar like anything other than the psychotic serial killer who hunted me down and violated my brain?!"

"He's not the monster you think he is, Claire." Angela handed her a manila file folder, thick with papers inside. "I want you to read this."

"What is it?"

"It's Gabriel's file, dear. Everything - the good, the bad, the heartbreaking. Underneath all that bravado, he's just a confused, lonely little boy who needs someone to love him."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"He's family. And he needs us. He needs you, Claire."

"I'll never forgive him for what he's put me through."

"Just give him a chance to redeem himself. That's all I ask."

Claire leveled a disbelieving glare at her bio-grandmother, who sighed. Angela got up from behind the mahogany desk and approached Claire. With a soft, sad smile, Angela reached out to push a golden strand of hair behind Claire's ear. "I'm not just doing this for the good of The Company. Or because he's a part of our family. I'm thinking of you, Claire."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want you to spend eternity alone, dear. Gabriel could give you the love that will keep you sane and even happy in your immortality."

Claire gasped, her eyes wide in indignation. "How can you suggest that, after everything Sylar's done to me? Do you actually expect me to live out a happily ever after into eternity with him? He's a serial killer! And there's also the fact that he is apparently my uncle!"

Angela sighed, returning to the leather seat behind her desk. "Did Noah ever tell you about Adam Monroe?"

"Who's Adam Monroe?"

"He was one of The Company's founders. He was born with your ability, Claire."

Claire gasped.

"He's over 400 years old and doesn't look a day over thirty."

"Oh my god."

"In the seventies Adam decided that in order to save humanity from itself, he had to release a virus that would kill 98% of the Earth's population. We stopped him before he could carry out his plan and have him contained. The point is, Claire, that over the centuries, life and death came to mean little to Adam, after watching everyone he ever knew or cared for grow old and die, again and again and again. Ultimately, I think it was the loneliness that drove him mad. I don't want that to be your fate."

Claire was stunned. Since she'd discovered her ability, the idea that she would never grow old and die was something she tried to push to the back of her mind. Claire liked to focus on the here and now. With all the craziness that had been her life since then, she'd been, for the most part, successful. Until Sylar took her ability and told her they could never die. That statement had haunted Claire, more than anything else about that awful day.

She didn't want to believe that she would live forever, but learning about Adam confirmed the terrifying reality of her situation. Four hundred years! What would she be like in four hundred years? Would she be driven mad with loneliness too? Would she try to murder billions of people with some crazed idea of saving humanity? Would she succeed? She didn't want to imagine herself like that . . . a worse monster than Sylar ever was.

Angela seemed to take the tears now falling down Claire's cheeks as evidence that her point had sunk in. "Read the file, Claire. You can save each other."

Her bio-grandmother's words kept popping up in her head during the road trip. She'd glance over at Sylar and hear Angela saying cryptically, "You can save each other." Claire knew that Angela saw the future in her dreams. What had she seen? Did she see Claire and Sylar together, happy and in love?

Unable to resist, Claire read Sylar's file before they set out on the trip. She wished that she hadn't. The monster that she saw in Sylar became a man - a vulnerable, broken man. Just seeing the picture of him as Gabriel Gray, dorky watchmaker with glasses and a sweater vest, had irreparably changed the way she saw Sylar.

Claire tried to remind herself that Sylar was a killer, a monster . . . but monsters don't feel remorse. They don't try to hang themselves in their sad dorky little watch shop after killing for the first time. Learning about how vulnerable he'd been, how lost and alone he must have felt after he inadvertently caused the death of his mother, the only person who ever showed him any love pulled at her heart. He wanted to die and almost succeeded. That completely shocked her.

Reading about the way Elle had saved him from his noose only to pray upon his weaknesses, to pretend to have feelings for him only to manipulate him pissed her off. That bitch had done everything she could to push him to kill again. What made it worse was learning that it was at her own father's orders. They'd pretty much shoved another victim in his face just so they could watch him kill, because they were curious about how he was able to take someone else's ability. It was sickening.

And now he was trying so hard to please Angela, to be a good agent and make his newfound mother proud of him. It was kind of sad. When Claire looked at Sylar, she didn't feel fear anymore. She didn't feel hate. She felt . . . confused. And then she had to go and humiliate herself with that stupid sex dream, calling out his name in front of both Sylar and Peter. Now Sylar was coming on to her, and it didn't gross her out like it should have. It actually turned her on.

Claire cast a surreptitious glance at Sylar. His eyes were focused on his plate as he meticulously twirled spaghetti onto his fork and cut off the longer, straggling noodle ends before bringing a bite to his mouth. Claire noticed that he had a napkin on his lap and his elbows off the table. Huh. Big bad Sylar shouldn't care about having perfect table manners, but Gabriel Gray might.

He picked up his soda, bringing the glass to his mouth absentmindedly, not noticing the straw until it poked him in the face. His eyes widened, then he quickly glanced up at Peter, who hadn't noticed, then over at Claire, who managed to stifle a laugh, but couldn't hide her smile. Sylar quickly looked back at his plate, his pale skin starting to blush in embarrassment. It was the cutest thing ever.

There was something so compelling about the glimpses of vulnerability she caught beneath his charismatic façade. Like on the day they started this trip, when Sylar showed up in a company car to pick her and Peter up at the Petrelli mansion. She was dressed casually in jeans and a floral print peasant blouse, as was Peter, in khaki pants and a light blue t-shirt, so when Claire saw Sylar leaning against the car dressed in a black suit with a crisp white shirt and a black tie, Claire couldn't stop herself from laughing.

"Nice suit, Sylar," she said with a smirk as he loaded her large duffle bag into the trunk for her. Peter shoved his own bag into the trunk, asking Sylar, "So, are you one of the men in black?"

She was expecting him to make some sort of wise-ass comeback, but he remained silent. By the time he settled into the driver's seat, Sylar had taken off his suit jacket, rolled his white button-down shirt up to his elbows and loosened his tie. And he was blushing. It was pretty adorable. Claire thought about teasing him further, but the photo of Sylar as Gabriel Gray, dorky watchmaker, popped into her head.

Claire wondered what he'd been like in high school. Probably the captain of the chess club or the math-a-letes. If he was picked on for dressing like such a nerd, he was likely extra sensitive to being teased about his clothes; so Claire held her tongue. Then she thought, this is Sylar, why am I trying to not hurt his feelings?

She looked at him now, hair cut short and styled back in a handsome, James Bond sort of way, no thick black glasses to hide his burnt caramel eyes and dramatic eyebrows. This Sylar exuded a strangely intense sexy charisma. He seemed so confident, even annoyingly arrogant at times. How much of the geek was still inside there, hiding beneath what her grandmother had called his "bravado"?

He must have noticed her watching him because he rubbed his knee against hers suggestively, a half-smile on his lips. With merely a slight nudge of his knee, Sylar managed to send her pulse through the roof and a warm blush burning her neck and cheeks. Why did her body have to react to his like this? She tried to remember when this happened, when Sylar went from scary nightmare man to hot sex-dream man.

It would be less shameful if she could say that it started when she found out about his geeky past and struggles to fight against his strange "hunger", that apparently is a feature of his ability, so not really his fault. It would be less sick and twisted if her attraction started when he began working for the Company and trying to be a "good guy". But no, her perverted little crush had started the day he cut open her brain and took her ability.

This is something she never told anyone, would never tell anyone, didn't even want to admit to herself. The first time she felt a flare of attraction to Sylar was when he used his telekinesis to throw her and pin her to a wall in her parent's living room. She was terrified of him, of course, but in that moment, amidst the horror, was a shocking jolt of desire, a primal yearning. She looked at him and for a second she felt like an animal sizing up a potential mate and finding him powerful and virile. She was quickly torn from those disturbing thoughts when he lifted a finger and drew a line of pain across her forehead.

Then there was the time he'd held out his hand to her, saving her from a whirling vortex into nothingness. That was the new Company agent version of Sylar, looking like 007 in his black suit. Granted, the suit look was pretty hot, but it was the strange way he looked at her that made her heart flutter rebelliously, like his eyes were reaching out to her soul in sudden understanding. He had the nerve to apologize for everything he'd put her though; and, shockingly, she could tell that he actually meant it.

But it wasn't the good boy Sylar that starred in her sex dream last night. In her dream, she'd just woken up to the sound of a toilet flushing. The bathroom door opened to reveal a shirtless Sylar silhouetted in the doorway.

Claire couldn't help but admire his lean, muscular body. Her eyes swept over his powerful arms and chest down his chiseled abs to the way his pajama pants hung loosely from his hips. When her appreciative gaze made its way back up to his face, she realized she'd been caught. He smiled mischievously and slowly stalked across the room to stand at the foot of her bed.

Lust glittered in his eyes, amplifying her own. Claire swallowed, expecting him to climb onto the bed and make her head spin with a fiery kiss. Part of her desperately wanted him to do just that, but Sylar didn't move. Instead, he slowly lifted his right hand.

Claire tensed, thinking for a second that he was about to use his telekinesis to cut open her skull again. Sylar surprised her by ghosting invisible telekinetic fingers in a soft caress down her cheek. They continued sweeping slowly along her neck, paused over her quickening pulse, then whispered along her collar bone.

Sylar hesitated before trailing his invisible fingers over a nipple, making her shudder. Claire knew she should stop him, but it wasn't like he was actually touching her, she rationalized. When she didn't protest, his lips twisted into a satisfied smirk. He applied more pressure, teasing one nipple, then the other over her thin tank top. Then she felt his hand slip under her top, smoothing over her stomach before moving up to caress her breasts and give her nipples more attention.

Claire closed her eyes, lost in the sensations, until she felt the invisible hand slide down her belly then slip between her boxers and her panties to lightly caress her sensitive nub**.** She opened her eyes, startled by the sudden reality of what she was letting him do. Claire knew she should tell him to stop, but it felt amazing, so she held her tongue.

His smirk shifted into a feral snarl. Claire watched her blanket slide past her legs to the bottom of the bed, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable to Sylar's hungry eyes. That feeling intensified dramatically when her boxers followed the blanket, his ghostly fingers trailing shivers down her legs as he slid them off. Claire couldn't believe what she was allowing. She knew she should stop this before it went any further, and tried to convince herself to say something. Then in one quick motion, her panties were torn into pieces and ripped off her. The unexpected violence of the act sent a bolt of need to her core, eradicating the part of her that was on the verge of protesting.

Sylar smiled, slipping a telekinetic finger inside her. Claire nearly yelped in shock, and had to bite her lip to keep from waking Peter. Discomfort quickly eased as Sylar began a slow rhythm that ignited a primal need in her. It grew even more difficult to keep quiet as he added another finger and increased his pace. Oh god, he was good at this.

Watching his raised hand mirroring the invisible touches she was feeling was so bizarrely hot. His thumb rubbed tiny circles in the air that she felt on her clit, and his index and middle fingers gestured up and down as he thrust his telekinetic fingers in and out of her. His eyes were blazing and he was almost as out of breath as she was.

She glanced down and noticed that his arousal was straining against his pajama pants. Her eyes widened at how very aroused he was. He was so tall, she thought fleetingly, it makes sense.

Her fists gripped the sheets and legs began to writhe as she felt her orgasm approaching. When her right leg leaned across her left, blocking Sylar's view, Claire felt the pressure of two more invisible hands catch hold of her legs, spreading them wide then holding them firmly in place.

"Say my name," Sylar whispered, his voice low and husky. She shook her head, her eyes flashing over towards Peter, who was thankfully still asleep in the other bed. If Peter woke up she'd literally die of embarrassment.

"Say it or I'll stop." Then, suddenly, the invisible fingers were gone. Claire whimpered. Damn it, she was so close! Giving in, she whispered, "Sylar."

He smiled devilishly, resuming his invisible touches with gusto.

"Say it again."

"Sylar," she barely managed to say in a breathy voice.

"Who is about to make you come?"

Her next "Sylar" came out in a moan.

"Who do you belong to?"

Claire was fighting to silence her moans as a delicious tingling sensation started in her center. When she didn't answer him, his invisible fingers entered her more roughly, and the pressure on her clit increased. "Who do you belong to, Claire? Who do you belong to?"

"Sylar!" she called out as her body exploded in pleasure. "Sylar!"

That's when she woke up to the humiliation of this morning.

Claire felt herself getting wet just from thinking about her dream. She eyed Sylar from beneath her lashes, wondering if he could do that for real, make her come just by using his telekinesis. Sylar caught her looking at him. His dark eyes seemed to burn into her, like he knew exactly what she'd been thinking about.

When she finally tore her gaze away from his, she found Peter watching them, his jaw clenched in disgust. Ashamed, Claire lowered her eyes to her lunch. Peter was right. She was a disgusting freak.

**Author's Note:**

**When I started this story, I only knew what would happen up to the diner. It's taken awhile, but I now have a solid plan for the rest of it. It'll be a long multi-chaptered fic. And I know how it ends, so don't worry about getting sucked into a story that the author never ends up finishing (I hate when that happens!)**

**If you like what you read, please review and tell me. It'll inspire me to write and update faster!**


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

Chapter Four:

As Sylar prepared a bite of spaghetti, he reveled in the effect his words had on Claire. The way she shivered when he trailed his finger down her neck, how her eyes fell shut while she imagined him touching her, making her come, fucking her against a wall . . . and, most glorious of all, the seductive scent of her increasing arousal. It proved to him that her dream wasn't a fluke; Claire was truly, intensely attracted to him.

Confident in that aspect of his pursuit, Sylar turned his attention to the more difficult goal of winning her heart. He had her lust, but to keep Claire beside him for eternity, Sylar needed to figure out a way to get Claire to fall in love with him. He had no experience in this area and was uncertain how to proceed.

Sylar knew he needed an approach other than just telling her about all the ways he wanted to fuck her. Claire undoubtedly thinks it's just a physical attraction that draws him to her. In reality, Claire's beauty was merely the beginning of what drew him in; ultimately, he considered it a pleasant bonus.

Sylar fell in love with who Claire was on the inside, with the soul he discovered with his clairsentience ability when his hand caught hers, saving Claire from Canfield's vortex. Physically invincible, yet emotionally vulnerable in a way that made him want to protect her forever. Despite being so exquisitely, innately special, Claire desperately wanted to be merely "normal". She was fascinating.

When he'd first encountered Claire, she was only a target, the holy grail of his quest for powers. She could make him invincible, and back then, that was all that mattered. He'd barely even noticed her good looks. It was during their next encounter, when he took her ability, that Sylar started to truly appreciate her. Claire actually managed to stab him in the chest with a big kitchen knife. It shocked the hell out of him; would have killed him, too, if he hadn't taken her power. Claire was a fighter, and Sylar respected that.

While he'd recognized that she was objectively an attractive girl, it wasn't until he used his telekinesis to fling then hold Claire against the wall that it hit him – a jolt of attraction so intense it almost made him drop her. He'd never felt anything like it. The hunger to understand and acquire her power was momentarily eclipsed by a hunger to possess her—body and soul. Watching Claire struggle against his invisible bonds, Sylar had to fight back a primal urge to yell, "Mine!"

He nearly closed the gap between them, wanting suddenly to hold her against the wall with his body rather than his mind. He wanted to taste her lips, to smell her hair, to thrust his hardness against her core, showing her exactly how badly he wanted her. For a second he could have sworn Claire felt it too, but he had to have been mistaken. Unless Claire was turned on by aggressive foreplay. Hmm. . . he'd enjoy testing that theory out later.

But first, to his current dilemma – Claire's love. Cliché gestures of romance came to mind, bouquets of red roses or boxes of chocolates, but Sylar quickly dismissed these offerings as too ordinary for Claire. Would a simple declaration of his feelings suffice?

Deep in thought, Sylar didn't notice the straw in his cup until it poked him in the face. Thankfully, Peter was focused on his cheeseburger. Casting a quick glance at Claire, he saw that though her eyes were focused on her plate, her lips were turned up at the corners in an amused smile. He could feel his neck and cheeks heat in embarrassment. Only Claire could make him blush.

He hated these moments . . . his Gabriel moments. Sylar despised all reminders of who he used to be—shy, awkward, mediocre Gabriel Gray. He was certain a gorgeous goddess like Claire wouldn't look twice at Gabriel Gray. The only real experience Gabriel had with the opposite sex was Elle, who just came on to him to manipulate him for the Company. The lying whore.

Shamefully, Gabriel was a virgin when he met Elle. Besides breaking his heart and pushing him to become a serial killer, Elle introduced him to sex. With his power of intuitive aptitude, Sylar soon became quite good at it. As much as he'd enjoyed sex with Elle, sex with Maya was even better. By the time he was fucking Maya, he was Sylar, and Sylar wasn't afraid to be aggressive in bed. God, he couldn't wait to get Claire into bed with him. The things he wanted to do to her. . .

o o o o

When Peter got back after a short trip to the bathroom, he saw Sylar scoot away from Claire. He'd been sitting entirely too close for Peter's sanity. Claire was blushing crimson and clearly nervous.

When he asked her if everything was alright, Claire's perky, forced, "Um-hmm, why wouldn't it be?" did nothing to dispel his suspicion that Sylar had been harassing her. The son of a bitch, sitting there smirking, eating up Claire's embarrassment like candy. It was disgusting.

She may have had a sex dream about his brother, but that didn't mean she wasn't as innocent as ever. Peter knew of no serious boyfriends in her past. She was probably still a virgin. His groin tightened at the thought. God, he'd love to be the man to breach her virgin tightness. Peter shook his head, trying to force his mind out of the gutter.

Claire was an angel. He shouldn't even be thinking about sullying her with his perverted fantasies. Peter tried to focus on his cheeseburger, battling his constant urge to look at her. How the hell was he going to make it through this trip without losing his mind?

If only they were already in Alaska, then he could focus on their mission, but Alaska was at least four days away. Maybe they could find some sort of landmark to visit as a distraction, to make this feel more like a road trip. Claire had her camera. She'd said she wanted to take some pictures on the road. Hmmm . . . what's in Nebraska? World's biggest corn field?

Silence descended on the table, punctured only by polite replies to the waitress while dealing with the check. Soon they were back in the car, Sylar driving this time, giving Peter control of the radio. Unfamiliar with the stations, he tried to find something decent to listen to.

On the first station, a man with a thick Southern accent sang: "_I love her, but I can't have her. Yeah, I love her, but I_. . .." Feeling like the lyrics hit too close to home, Peter switched to the next station.

The song playing was also Country, but faster, more upbeat. Satisfied, Peter settled back in his seat, but when the chorus came up: _"She's a heartbreaker. A sexy little thing in her cowboy boots and her skin-tight jeans. A heart-breaker. I'm trying not to stare as she's flipping her long blonde hair. . ."_ he couldn't switch the station fast enough.

The next station was playing a pretty Sinatra-esque ballad: _". . . holding your hand. Oh, I wish it was me. When I see the way you look at him, with star dust in your pretty eyes. Oh, baby, I wish it was me. I wish it was me."_ Thinking of the way Claire looked at Sylar in the diner, Peter switched stations again.

This time a woman's breathy voice sang: "It's so wrong. So wrong, but darlin' it feels so right. You and me, we ain't meant to be. But baby, your lips, they taste so sweet. Stolen kisses ain't enough. I know it's wrong, so wrong, but darlin' it feels so right to me . . ."

Frustrated, Peter prayed there would be something bearable on the next station. Instead, Salt N'Pepa's classic from the early nineties decided to top all the others with: "_Let's talk about sex, baby. Let's talk about you and me. Let's talk about all the good things and the bad things that may be. Let's talk about sex. Let's talk about sex . . ."_ Peter almost laughed at the fucking absurdity of all the songs being out to get him. He finally switched to AM frequency, thinking that talk radio would be safer.

He glanced over at a smirking Sylar. Shit, had he been that obvious? Did Claire realize why he kept changing stations?

"Coming up, we'll be talkin' to Jenny Booth about the upcoming mayoral election. But first, a quick reminder folks that today is the last day of Blackbird County's Annual Sweet Corn Festival. Games, food, dancing. A great time for the whole family. It's located off Highway 80, down Old Oak Road."

"Hey, we just passed that!" Claire spoke up from the backseat. "We should totally go."

"To the corn festival?" Sylar asked, disbelief thick in his voice.

"Yeah. It could be fun. Why not? I mean, this is a road trip, isn't it? We're supposed to stop at random places and do cheesy things."

Peter couldn't help but smile. If going to a corn festival made her happy, he was all for it. Plus, it was just the kind of distraction he'd been hoping for. "You're right. Let's do it."

"Come on, Sylar," Claire coaxed, "You know you want to . . . "

Sylar rolled his eyes, but couldn't suppress his own grin. "If it means that much to you, I'm in."

Claire smiled, her sea green eyes sparkling. She clapped her hands together. "Whoo-hoo, corn festival here we come!"

The fair turned out to be much bigger than Peter expected. After parking amidst the dozens and dozens of cars in the packed makeshift dirt lot, they headed down a worn path, their shoes kicking up dust. They followed it down a small rise to a field the size of at least two football fields that was completely consumed by the festival and its crowds.

The sun beat down on them, reminding Peter of the glory that is air conditioning. He felt a bead of sweat trail down his spine, but the heat was worth it for the way the sun played with Claire's golden hair. God, he wanted to touch her hair, to thread his fingers through the silky waves as he captured her lips. He'd never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his life.

He wanted to trace the soft fullness of her lips with his tongue, to nibble on her pouty bottom lip, to steal her breath as he deepened the kiss. He wanted to lay Claire down on a soft bed surrounded by candles and strewn with rose petals. He wanted to see her eyes widen when he entered her for the first time, his cock breaking through her virgin barrier. He wanted to show her how much he loved her by making her first time special, with candle light and soft music. He'd be gentle; kissing her lips, her neck, her collarbone as he moved slowly within her. And when he felt her climax milk his cock, he'd bury himself deep and spill himself inside her with her name on his lips.

Caught up in his fantasy, Peter tripped over a small rock on the path, catching himself awkwardly. Claire looked over her shoulder and gave him a smile that filled him with both longing and shame. Damn it. Stop thinking about her like that you sick perv! She's your niece! Your niece!

He needed to stop fantasizing about fucking her and start acting like everything was normal. He'd let Sylar get to him this morning. The tense silence during their drive and at lunch must have been horrible for Claire, especially after being so embarrassed over her dream.

Peter wanted to kick himself for being such an inconsiderate ass. What was he thinking? He should have been going out of his way to make Claire feel comfortable, to help her forget about her humiliating morning. Instead he'd spent the day in his own head, throwing a pity party for his sick obsession with her. Maybe he could make it up to her during the festival. Determination settled over him. Peter would make this day fun for her, even if it meant being nice to Sylar.

o o o o

For the third time in as many days, Taylor O'Brian strolled though the busy country fair. He moved slowly, seemingly aimless while he methodically went through the labyrinth of tented booths in a repeated search grid pattern.

Wearing worn jeans, boots and a plaid button-up tee, Taylor blended in with the rural crowd. Of average height and medium build, his close-cropped light blond hair framed a handsome, angular face.

His ice blue eyes scanned the crowd, pausing briefly whenever they spotted a pretty lady, before moving on. Taylor was looking for someone specific, someone special. It was the last day of the festival, which meant he'd find her today if that seer Neil had was worth a damn.

When his eyes passed over a young blonde flanked by two men with dark-brown hair, he did a double take. Was that Claire? She spun around to face them, walking backwards and giggling, shamelessly flirting with both men.

Taylor turned on the distraction field that made him such an asset to Neil. He didn't know how it worked exactly, just that when he used his field, anyone who looked at him would be struck with the feeling that they had forgotten something important. As their mind struggled to remember what it was they forgot, their eyes would sweep past him, not even registering having seen him at all.

He followed the trio a ways to get a better look at them. Satisfied, Taylor brought his cell phone from his jean pocket, punched the first name in his speed-dial, then held the phone to his ear.

After a few rings, Neil answered in a tone that was all business. "O'Brian. Do you have good news for me?"

"I have a visual on the target."

Taylor could hear the sigh of relief then the smile in Neil's voice, "Excellent. Is she alone?"

"No. She is with two men. One looks like the younger Petrelli son. I don't recognize the other."

"Hmm . . . we'll have to assume they both have abilities. You'll need to be careful."

"I can take care of myself," Taylor growled.

The calm voice on the other end sharpened, "I don't give a shit about your pride, O'Brian. I will not have you risk a confrontation with two opponents of unknown abilities. Claire is more important to our endeavor than you can possibly imagine. You will wait until she is alone and take her before Petrelli or his friend notices she's missing. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

Taylor had no idea why Neil wanted the pretty blonde. He was only told that her power was passive and wouldn't be an issue during the abduction. Neil wanted her brought to the compound in North Dakota, untouched. Taylor knew that Neil would have him wishing for death if he didn't follow his instructions to the letter. That meant no touching the girl. Too bad. She was a sexy little vixen he'd love to teach a lesson to about the wisdom of flirting with men you have no plans to fuck. He'd love to show her exactly what she was asking for. Damn. Hands off, Taylor. She belongs to Neil.

He continued following his target at a good distance, watching as the girl stopped to look at handcrafted jewelry in one booth, carved animal figurines in another. Like a tiger stalking its unknowing prey, Taylor would wait for the perfect opportunity, then strike without hesitation or mercy.

o o o o

From the way Claire's face lit up the moment they stepped into the maze of tented booths, Sylar was happy they'd decided to come to the stupid fair. The booths were manned by almost annoyingly friendly locals hawking everything from hand sewn quilts to homemade honey, goofy caricature drawings to decorative bird houses.

"Ooh look!" Claire squealed. "They're signing people up for a sweet corn eating contest! You guys should totally sign up."

"Seriously?" Sylar gave her an amused smirk.

"It'll be fun. You should both do it. Unless of course you're too chicken," Claire smiled at them mischievously. The sexy little imp. She needed to be kissed thoroughly. Damn it, why does Peter have to be here?

Sylar let his eyes wander down her beautiful body, appreciating the expanse of tanned legs revealed by her tauntingly short shorts and the way her blouse hugged her pert breasts. His cock hardened as he imagined circling her nipple with his tongue. Sylar glanced up to find her eyes on his, a soft blush blossoming on her cheeks. His tongue swept across his suddenly dry lips. He knew he'd just been busted, but couldn't find it in himself to care. Claire already knew he lusted for her.

"Will you be competing too, Sunshine?" Sylar asked. Though his voice came out softer and huskier than he'd intended, Sylar enjoyed the reaction it provoked in Claire, who bit her lip and looked down then to the side, fighting a smile.

"No. I don't think so," she finally answered. "It'll be so much more fun watching the two of you. Plus, someone needs to take pictures." Claire looked up at them pleadingly. "Come on, pleeeeze?" She stuck out her bottom lip in an adorable pout.

He couldn't resist. "You're impossible to say no to," he told her, shaking his head, fighting a stupid boyish grin. Only Claire could get him to act like an idiot and have fun at the same time.

"Yeah, this will be so great you guys! Just remember, no using special powers," she stated firmly.

"But Claire," Sylar teased, "this is the perfect opportunity to use my super corn eating power."

"Super corn eating power? Who did you have to kill for that gem," Claire asked with a smile.

"Hmm. . . the scarecrow from Wizard of Oz?"

"I thought he had straw for a brain," Claire shot back at him.

"Yes, it wasn't nearly as satisfying without the blood and gooey gray matter, but at least I can eat corn at hyper-speed."

"That's not funny!" Claire shoved him lightly, giggling adorably.

"Then why are you laughing?" he asked with a grin.

Sylar couldn't believe Claire was actually joking with him about his serial killer phase. He liked this new development, a lot. It meant that Claire was closer to giving in to him than he'd thought.

A crowd gathered to watch the contest, exceeding the rows of chairs set up for spectators. Apparently corn eating was a big deal around here. Three long tables were lined up in the stage area. Six men and one woman (who looked rather like a man) were already seated behind the tables.

He walked up with Peter, taking the two empty seats on the end. A man with a cowboy hat and a loudspeaker called for everyone's attention. He explained the rules: the competitors had three minutes to eat as many ears of corn as possible. Simple enough. Huge platters of hot ears of yellow sweet corn were brought out and set before the competitors. Sylar was grateful it was corn and not something unappetizing, like brussel sprouts. His adoptive mother always made him eat brussel sprouts.

A group of teenage girls wearing matching yellow t-shirts and yellow ribbons in their hair came out next, each moving to stand behind a contestant and holding a small white board—scorekeepers Sylar realized. What had he gotten himself into? Claire stood in the growing crowd, holding her camera ready, humor flashing in her naughty green eyes. That little . . . Sylar smiled and waved sarcastically, earning a giggle from her. Then he heard the host begin to count down, "Three, two, one, EAT!"

What the hell, Sylar thought as he grabbed an ear of corn and started eating. Once he got going, what with the crowd cheering and cameras flashing, he was actually having fun, and the sweet corn was delicious. After six ears of corn, however, Sylar was less enthusiastic. Peter's pile of eaten cobs was about his size. Glancing to his right, Sylar noted with pleasure that their competitors' piles were smaller.

The crowd shouted down from "ten, nine, eight. . .." Sylar and Peter sped up, trying to finish one last ear of corn before they hit, "three, two, one!" The announcer added "Hands on your lap!" Then he went down the line, calling out the numbers each had managed to eat, "five, six, four, six . . ." Sylar smiled at his total of seven. Then the host made it to Peter, who'd managed to scarf down eight. Damn it.

Sylar shrugged, so much for his hyper-speed corn eating prowess. Peter jumped up from his chair, punching the sky, looking triumphant despite the mediocrity of the stupid contest. Watching him act so excited, Sylar realized that he loved his brother, loved having a real family.

Claire was all smiles as she ran up to hug Peter. It was such a cute moment. When Peter pressed his lips to Claire's, it took a second before Sylar fully registered what was happening. Sylar watched in confusion that turned quickly into horror as Peter pulled Claire against his body, extending the kiss past all propriety.

Brotherly sentiments fled as a jealous rage took over. Sylar closed his fists, fighting the urge to use one of his powers. This couldn't be happening. Just when he was making progress with Claire, Peter has to go and do a thing like this. Damn it, was Peter going to use his fucking tongue next? When Peter finally let her go, the smile on Claire's face sent a bolt of white hot fear into Sylar's heart.

o o o o

Claire caught her breath with a gasp. She smiled brightly to hide her complete and utter shock. She couldn't believe Peter had just kissed her. Peter! From the look on his face, he was almost as shocked as she was.

She knew he was excited from winning the corn eating contest, so when she ran up to hug him, giving her a spur of the moment celebrating kiss sort of made sense. He must have meant to kiss her in a family member kind of way, like a quick peck maybe, but that's not what happened. What happened was sexy and extremely confusing.

She'd been so miserable earlier, certain that Peter thought she was a disgusting freak for having a sex dream about Sylar. Lunch was mostly silent and excruciatingly awkward. When they got back into the car, Claire thanked god for the radio. She needed something to distract her from Sylar's heated looks and Peter's apparent disgust.

Peter flipped through a bunch of stations before switching to AM, which was odd. Since when did Peter listen to talk radio? It turned out to be a lucky move because that's how they learned about the corn festival. Claire had seized on the idea like a life raft after a shipwreck. Spending the afternoon stuck in that car with nothing but her tormented thoughts and all the awkward tension between them sounded like slow torture. A corn festival would have people, lots of people. And things to look at. Maybe activities. Anything to get her out of that car!

Sylar and Peter were surprisingly easy to coax into going to the fair. She even got them to enter a corn eating contest, which was hilarious. She was actually having fun, being silly with them, laughing, joking. The crazy tension that plagued them that morning and at lunch was gone. Peter was smiling at her again; Sylar was joking with them both, being silly. It was great. Then the kiss happened, and Claire's world shifted.

When she ran up to give him a hug, Peter smiled, returning the hug before pulling back slightly and catching her eyes with his own sparkling amber ones. His head bent towards her, quickly closing the distance between them before she realized what was happening. Claire's eyes fell shut as Peter's soft lips pressed against hers. They lingered for a few delicious seconds before pulling back just enough to readjust, taking her lower lip between his own as he pressed his lips to hers again.

The gentle pressure increased as his hands slid lower down her back, then pulled her body tightly against his. She was suddenly very aware of her breasts pushed against his hard chest, her hips pressed into his upper thighs, and the sensation of his belt buckle against her stomach. Instinctively, Claire's lips began to part, her tongue sliding past her teeth, wanting to lick his lip, to coax his tongue into her mouth. As his lips slowly pulled away, she opened her eyes to find Peter's eyes dark, his expression dazed. Then he blinked and seemed to come to his senses. Peter quickly released her and stepped back, breaking the light hold of her hands around his neck.

From the moment Peter bumped into her in a hallway on Homecoming, there had been a connection. He'd saved her from Sylar, back when Sylar was the scary boogey-man of her nightmares. Peter became her hero that night. He was gorgeous, noble, kind. The perfect guy.

For awhile Peter starred in all of her romantic daydreams. She used to sit in class and fantasize about going to NYU after high school and bumping into him in Central Park. They'd have coffee in some sidewalk café and of course he'd fall madly in love with her. When Claire found out that Peter was her uncle, her heart broke a little.

But that was a long time ago. Claire had learned to accept that Peter was family, not an acceptable person to have a silly school girl crush on. She'd even had a serious boyfriend since then. Yes, Peter continued to be ridiculously hot and perfect, but the crush was over, or so she thought . . . until the moment his lips met hers, reigniting something shameful.

Why did he kiss her like that? Could he actually be attracted to her? Or was he just caught up in the moment, forgetting who he was kissing? That must have been it. The kiss was just an accident, something he didn't really mean to do. His shocked expression and quick retreat after the kiss made that perfectly clear. Claire just needed to forget all about it and pretend that it never happened. Simple as that. Should be a piece of cake. Uh-huh, right.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

Chapter Five:

Oh shit, what the fuck was he thinking? He kissed Claire. He actually kissed her. In front of everybody! It all happened so fast. One second he was hugging Claire, and the next, his lips were pressed against hers. Then it was like Peter lost touch with reality.

The next few moments seemed to happen without any thought or intent on his part. It was like he'd tripped and lost his balance at the top of a staircase, and once he did, gravity took care of the rest. He couldn't stop himself from falling down the stairs any more than he could stop himself from pulling Claire's body tightly against his own as he reveled in the soft temptation of her lips.

The seductive scent of vanilla and suntan lotion swirled around him as his body burned at the pleasure of feeling Claire's breasts pressed against his chest. Peter's tongue started to slide past his teeth, eager to taste her lips and to entice her tongue into play.

That's when reality intruded on his brief paradise. Peter jerked away on a gasp, his eyes opening wide in shock. Stumbling backwards, Peter glanced over to where Sylar was sitting at the corn eating table. From the horror-struck expression on his brother's face, Peter knew that Sylar had seen the kiss.

Even Sylar, an ex-serial killer, was appalled by Peter's outrageous behavior. Of course he was, Peter had just tried to make out with their niece! God, he was sick. It was one thing to fantasize about it, but another thing entirely for him to actually act on his perverted obsession.

Disgusted with himself, Peter wanted to run far away and hide in some cave where no one could see him in his wretchedness. He settled for mumbling something about finding a bathroom and disappearing into the festival's crowds. He needed some time to work up the nerve to face Claire and Sylar after what he'd done.

As he weaved through the fair-goers, Peter was suddenly struck by the feeling that he'd forgotten something, something important. What the hell did he forget? He shook his head. He had more important things to think about, like what the hell he was going to do about Claire.

o o o o

While Peter ran off to find a bathroom, Sylar forced himself to take a few deep breaths to calm down. He would not let Peter's kiss deter him from his goal. If anything, it made him more determined to get Claire than ever.

After experiencing the blood boiling jealousy that burned him during the kiss, followed by the soul gripping terror of losing Claire, Sylar was brutally aware of just how important Claire was to him. He had to win her heart, and he had to do it soon. Failure was simply not an option. Continued existence, the immortality he'd wanted so badly, Sylar now knew that it would be unbearable without her.

Leaving the corn cob littered table, Sylar made his way over to where Claire was standing. She looked dazed, still in shock from Peter's kiss and hasty departure. Hoping to draw her attention to something other than his stupid brother, Sylar slipped his hand into hers and tugged her into the crowd, walking in the opposite direction of Peter. "Come on, let's do some more exploring," he told her in a cheerful voice, pretending he hadn't seen the kiss.

Sylar led her down a new aisle, forcing himself, with surprising difficulty, to let go of Claire's hand, despite how perfectly it fit in his own. Thankfully, the dazed fog lifted and she seemed to relax. He stopped to buy Claire some cotton candy, which made her smile in a way that sent his heart speeding.

As they walked, he watched Claire eat the spun sugar, transfixed by how she'd pull off a small pink tuft with her delicate fingers, slowly bring It to her sensual mouth, then finally place it to melt on her wet tongue. He licked his lips, wanting to taste the sugary confection by licking the sticky sweetness from Claire's lips and sucking on her pink tongue.

Thoroughly distracted, Sylar didn't notice the trash can until he walked right into it, tipping it over. Flushing with embarrassment, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath before kneeling to right the trash can and gather the soda cans and paper plates that had tumbled out. Why the hell did he always have to be so damn clumsy and awkward around Claire?

He tried to act nonchalant as he rejoined Claire. She didn't say anything, but he was sure he'd catch her stifling a laugh at him. When he finally peeked over at her, Claire had the strangest expression on her face. Her eyebrows crinkled together as in deep thought, but her lips were turned up into a soft smile. Claire looked as if she'd had a realization that pleasantly surprised her.

Suddenly something clicked for him, like a component of a watch fitting perfectly into place, and he just knew. Claire liked the glimpse of his inner Gabriel. He already knew she found Sylar attractive, but perhaps it is the Gabriel in him that can win Claire's heart. Hmm . . . . what would Gabriel do?

o o o o

When Peter bolted, Claire was sure she'd be obsessing over their kiss for hours, but Sylar proved to be surprisingly distracting. If he hadn't grabbed her hand and tugged her along with him, she'd probably still be standing there in a daze where Peter left her, looking like an idiot.

Sylar could be so sweet when he wanted to be. While she was admiring some pretty watercolor paintings, he snuck off to buy her cotton candy. He surprised her with it by holding it behind his back then presenting it like a bouquet of flowers. He gave her a gorgeous smile, his dark eyes sparkling with a sexy dose of mischief. Grinning like a little kid, Claire reached for the cone with the huge ball of yummy pink fluff.

She was enjoying the tasty cotton candy as they walked down the row, browsing the tents, when Sylar bumped into a trash can, tipping it over and spilling trash everywhere. Claire had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. He looked so adorably embarrassed!

Claire loved the way he closed his eyes like he was gathering strength to face the humiliation before bending over to clean up the mess. After he was done carefully setting the trash can upright and picking up all the trash he'd spilled, Sylar got up and started walking with her as if nothing had happened. It occurred to her that for all his bravado, deep down, Sylar was really just a sweet dork, a surprisingly endearing sweet dork.

A few minutes later, she was drawn to a colorful tent displaying Native American jewelry and knick-knacks. She passed by the carved figures of wolves and bears that took up one of the tables and lifted a hand to touch a feather on one of the elaborate dream-catchers that hung from the ceiling of the tent.

On the next table she found a vibrant display of earrings and necklaces. Claire was mesmerized by the beauty of the turquoise stones and shining silver, combined with brightly colored feathers. One necklace drew her eye particularly. Hanging from a delicate silver chain was a stunning stone pendant shaped like a sliver of the moon.

"This is so beautiful," she whispered to herself, reaching out to touch the milky white opalescent stone that captivated her.

"It's called a moonstone."

Claire looked up and saw a teenage girl walking up from the shade of the tent. She was wearing skinny jeans, a teal tank top and a low ponytail, with a lovely Native American complexion and a big white smile. Claire warmed to her instantly.

"You know, there's a legend among our people about the origins of moonstones."

"There is?"

"Um-hmm. They say that a long time ago there was a girl who was the most beautiful in the tribe, so beautiful that every man wanted her to be his bride. One day while bathing in the river, a man from a neighboring tribe found her, and overcome by her beauty, tried to force himself on her. But the sky spirits answered her prayers for rescue by turning her into the moon. As the girl floated up to the sky, her tears of relief and joy fell to the earth below, creating moonstones. They say that when a girl wears a moonstone, she reflects a part of the moon spirit's beauty. It's like an immediate beauty boost."

The girl leaned closer, adding in a conspiratorial whisper, "It's even better than mascara." She winked theatrically and they both fell easily into a fit of giggles. Another customer drew the girl's attention with a question, leaving Claire to admire the pendant.

She sensed Sylar come up behind her, looking over her shoulder at the necklace she was touching. He stood close enough for her to feel his body heat and appreciate the subtle scent of his disturbingly sexy cologne. It made her think of those Axe commercials where women fawn over and rub up against a guy because he smells so hot. Claire's eyes fell shut for a moment as she drank him in.

"You make a beautiful couple," the girl told them cheerfully.

Claire nearly jumped out of her skin, feeling like she'd just been caught with her hand in a cookie jar. "Oh, uh, we're not a couple."

An elderly woman Claire hadn't noticed before walked out of the shadows in the back of the tent. Black hair generously streaked with gray framed a weathered face with strong, high cheekbones and deep wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. She wore a long skirt and a white embroidered blouse. Her waist-length hair was pulled back into a thick braid, tied with a simple leather cord. She said something in a language Claire didn't understand, but assumed was the native language of her tribe.

"This is my grandmother." The girl told them, grinning mischievously. "She says that you will be a couple. Soon and forever."

"That's sooo not going to happen," Claire said stubbornly, shaking her head.

The old woman laughed, startling Claire by answering in English, "It has already begun, little one. Fight it all you want, but in the end, you will save each other."

Those words sent chills through Claire's body. Oh god, did that lady really just say that she and Sylar will save each other, the same exact cryptic phrase Angela had laid on Claire before sending her on this road trip?

"Nana. . ." the teen said reprovingly.

Claire's voice shook as she replied quietly, "I don't know what you're talking about." She looked down and tried to focus on a pair of green feather earrings, not wanting to see the strange certainty in the old woman's eyes.

"Yes, indestructible one, you do." Claire gasped at that, darting wide eyes at the woman. How did she know about her ability?

"I'm sorry, she can be a little crazy sometimes. Nana, don't be rude!"

Claire looked over her shoulder to Sylar, but he didn't seem to notice. He was staring fixedly at the old woman, like she was an intriguing puzzle he desperately needed to solve. The woman eyed him right back.

"Don't bother, boy. You don't need my power. You need to listen to my words. She is the only cure to your hunger. And you, only you can save her from what she fears most."

"What I fear most?" Claire asked in a whisper.

The woman turned her penetrating gaze back to Claire and answered bluntly, "Eternity . . . alone."

"Nana, you need to get your head examined old woman!" Muttering to herself, the elderly lady shuffled toward the back of the tent. "I'm so sorry," the granddaughter looked at them apologetically. "She's always been like that . . . saying the oddest things_."_

"That's ok," Claire managed to respond. She smiled politely before walking away from the stand, her mind reeling. Sylar soon caught up to her and they walked in silence down the aisle, passing tents Claire would have stopped at before the disturbing encounter. Now all she wanted to do was get away from that booth, away from the certainty in the old woman's eyes, and far, far away from the idea that Sylar and her were inevitable—that they were meant for each other.

Claire started to feel awkward walking next to him. Should she say something about what that lady told them? Did she even want to know Sylar's interpretation? Claire was relieved when her full bladder finally gave her an excuse to get away. "Did you see where the bathroom is?"

Sylar raised an amused eyebrow, "I think I saw some Port-o-Potties near the beer booth."

"Oh, right, Port–o-Potties, because we're outside." Claire grimaced. "Eww."

He laughed, which annoyed her at first; but Sylar's laugh was so carefree and bubbly, it was ultimately contagious. His dark eyes sparkled as he smiled at her—a sweet, boyish grin that made him look so handsome her heart skipped a beat. Stupid heart.

There turned out to be a line for the Port-o-Potties. Sylar went to buy them lemonades from a stand nearby. He gave her an annoying, sarcastic wave when her turn came up and she opened the door with a grimace. Inwardly groaning, Claire finally stepped into the swelteringly hot and disgusting smelling green box. Gross. Whoever invented these things should be imprisoned in one, she thought grumpily.

Peter found them soon after, his smile not reaching his eyes. He didn't mention the sweet corn eating contest or their short but disturbingly intimate kiss. Claire was certainly not going to bring it up herself. The giddy, lighthearted mood they'd enjoyed that afternoon was gone, a weighty silence taking its place. No one protested her suggestion that they leave the fair and get back on the road.

o o o o

Peter settled in to the drive, his mind replaying earlier events. Before the corn eating contest, before he kissed his niece, he'd been having a decent time. Claire seemed happy. She laughed and joked around with both him and Sylar, who, Peter had to admit, actually had a good sense of humor. Everything was going great.

Then came Sylar's claim to have a super corn eating power. Peter was shocked by Claire's response, asking Sylar who he had to kill for it.

Their easy repartee had annoyed the hell out of Peter. How could she joke with Sylar about his serial killing antics, as if they were just that, antics? It was like she was ready to completely forgive his dark past. No, it was like she'd already forgiven it.

It was one thing for her to be attracted to the fiend, but for her to be so friendly with him—it was maddening. God, was Claire really considering being with Sylar?

Yes, Peter realized with horror, she was. It has to be her fear of being alone for eternity. It's twisting her sense of right and wrong. It's making her forgive Sylar's faults. He couldn't exactly blame Claire. Immortality was not an easy future to consider. Spending it alone . . . it would be like a level of Dante's inferno. And Claire was so young, of course she was terrified.

Her sudden attraction and flirtatiousness with Sylar now made perfect sense. But why Sylar? Why not him? If she was thinking about immortality, afraid of being alone, Claire would surely have considered Peter's potential immortality. Which meant she'd chosen Sylar over him. Why?

Peter gripped the steering wheel so hard his hands shook before he realized that he was doing it. A quick glance at Sylar on his right and at Claire through the rear-view mirror told him that his death grip on the steering wheel had mercifully gone unnoticed. He forced himself to unclench his jaw and taking some deep breaths.

Why the fuck had she picked Sylar? It didn't make sense. Why not pick him? Peter knew that he was a reasonably attractive guy. Why would Claire choose a psycho serial killer over him? They were both her uncle, so that couldn't explain her choice.

Then it hit him. Sylar flirted with Claire. It was obvious that Sylar wanted her. His interest in her was evident in the way Sylar looked at her, how he smiled at her, how he touched her back. He seemed to make no effort whatsoever to hide his attraction to Claire.

Aside from that inappropriate kiss, Peter had always been careful to keep his own interest hidden. She probably thought that he'd never consider her in a sexual or romantic way. Claire could be choosing Sylar because she didn't realize that she had another choice. Peter had to tell her. It was wrong on so many levels, but if she was going to be with him or Sylar, then by god, Claire would be with him.

Wait, what the hell was he thinking? She was his niece! Just because she was joking around with Sylar didn't mean that she was planning on getting intimate with the man. It could be her way of trying to help Sylar feel included, like he was really a part of the Petrelli family. That sounded like something Claire would do. She was such a beautiful, giving person; of course Claire would find a way to forgive her former boogie-man.

Peter felt like pounding his head against the steering wheel. He was letting his obsession with Claire screw with his head. Jealousy was making him paranoid and irrational. How the hell was he going to make it through this trip without losing his mind?

o o o o

Claire spent the rest of the afternoon stretched out in the backseat of the car, leaning against a door with a sweater cushioning her head. She pulled her worn copy of Living Dead in Dallas, one of her favorite Sookie Stackhouse novels, from her bag to read while there was still light out. Claire wanted to lose herself in the familiar story, but it was impossible for two reasons—and they were both sitting in the car with her. Instead of immersing herself in the world of sexy vampires, Claire's mind replayed earlier events of the day, trying to make sense of her muddled feelings.

When it got late enough that they all started yawning, Peter pulled off the highway so they could get a room at a roadside motel. If Claire learned one thing on this trip, it was that all motel rooms looked the same, only with slight changes in coloring and furniture placement. This one had a burgundy and taupe color scheme, with fake cherry wood furniture and hideous floral wallpaper. The bed covers and matching drapes were made with an abstract print straight from the eighties. Did all motel owners shop at the same giant motel bedding and furniture outlet or something?

Peter was quick to claim the shower, leaving Claire and Sylar alone. She plopped down onto one of the beds, grateful that her strange and confusing day was nearly over. Sylar sat down across from her on the other bed and leaned over to set the alarm clock on the shared nightstand.

The amber glow from the bedside lamp highlighted the handsome angles of his face. He was a study in contrasts, pale skin and dark hair, dramatic eyebrows and temptingly kiss-worthy lips. He looked up, catching Claire in her appreciative gaze. Unable to look away, Claire watched Sylar's eyes begin to smolder with dark, sexy promise that provoked an unsettling eagerness inside her traitorous body.

Claire was suddenly very aware that she was lying on a bed. Several images of things Sylar and her could do together on a bed flashed though her mind. Try as she might, Claire couldn't push the unwelcome thoughts away. It didn't help that he looked as if he was contemplating similar bed-related activities.

The silence stretched out, becoming heavy with a tension that sent her pulse racing. With difficulty, Claire finally tore her eyes from his. Needing something to distract her, she stood and walked to the TV armoire to find the remote control.

Why was this happening to her? It's like that stupid sex dream had turned her into a zombie that instead of wanting to eat human brains was cursed with craving a certain sexy brain-exposing watchmaker geek that kept looking at her like he was ready to pounce and ravish her senseless.

When she turned to go back to the bed, Claire had to stop short to keep from bumping into Sylar. Like a stealthy ninja, he was suddenly standing there, disconcertingly tall and muscular, blocking her way. She gave him a nervous smile, certain he was about to say or do something insanely hot. Instead of saying anything provocative, Sylar surprised her with a casual, "I bought you something at the fair."

"Oh, uh, really?"

"Yeah." Sylar fished a small embroidered bag out of his pocket and handed it to her awkwardly, not meeting her eyes. He cleared his throat. "You're a breathtaking goddess in your own right," Sylar's voice had a nervous edge as he continued, "so you don't need the moon spirit's beauty boost, but you seemed to like it. . ."

Claire untied the bag, letting the moonstone pendant necklace she'd ogled at the jewelry stand slip into her palm.

"May I?" he asked softly, reaching for the necklace. Claire nodded. "Turn around," he told her in a low voice that seemed to caress her entire body.

She turned for him, her pulse speeding up as he moved to stand close behind her, his body not quite touching hers. He lifted one of her hands and gently placed it at the back of her head to hold her hair up while he draped the necklace over her neck and secured the delicate clasp.

Claire let her hair fall over her back when he finished. She looked down at the pendant, still in shock that Sylar had bought it for her. Since when did he get so thoughtful and oddly romantic? It occurred to Claire that she was only beginning to unravel the complex mystery of Sylar.

Standing behind her, Sylar skimmed his fingers along her shoulders and down her arms in a touch that made her shiver. "Do you like it?" he whispered in her ear, his voice gravelly and sinful.

"It's beautiful," she answered in a throaty whisper. She could feel his breath on her neck and though their bodies weren't actually touching, Claire sensed his nearness like a magnetic pull over her entire body.

When he started pressing soft kisses along her neck, Claire couldn't bring herself to protest. Her eyes fluttered shut as she surrendered to the surreal moment. Sylar's kisses were seductive, meant to tempt rather than take. And boy did they tempt. She had to fight the urge to turn around so he could kiss her mouth. A light, playful bite on her neck made her gasp at the rising desire that threatened to steal her sanity.

She spun around to face him, backing up a couple steps as she struggled to slow her breathing. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because . . . because I want you Claire," he replied matter-of-factly. Claire's desire fled in the face of her growing anger. How dare he presume she'd be ok with this?

"Just because I had a sexy dream about you doesn't mean I'm going to jump into bed with you, Sylar. I'm not the kind of girl that just hooks up with someone for no other reason than that I have the hots for him!"

"I know. Neither am I." He smirked. "I mean, the male version of that."

Claire reluctantly let out a breathy laugh. She shook her head, trying to focus. "Then what is this?"

"I . . . I want to be with you." His eyes seemed to reach out to her, begging Claire to understand. "Not just physically."

"So, you want to, what," Claire snorted derisively, "be my boyfriend or something?"

Sylar's eyebrows rose like he was surprised by her question. "Yes," he said finally with an amused grin. "I suppose I want to be your boyfriend, Claire."

"You can't be serious," she scoffed. Claire couldn't tell if he was teasing her or not. Was this some sick game for him?

His jaw clenched as Sylar narrowed angry eyes at her. "I am completely serious, Claire."

That flash of anger said it all. She'd hurt his feelings by not taking him seriously. Oh god, he really meant it. Sylar wanted to be her boyfriend! Shocked disbelief gave way to suspicion. "This is because of what that old woman said, about me curing your hunger, isn't it?"

"No!" he responded immediately, looking insulted. "I was already going to pursue you, Claire. I've wanted you this way since . . ." Sylar cut himself off abruptly, like he'd accidently said more than he meant to.

"Since when?"

He seemed to debate telling her. "Well," Sylar finally answered, his eyes lowered, "when I held your hand, saving you from Canfield's vortex. I have an ability that let me see you, your memories, how I'd hurt you. I saw so many things. I . . . I. . ." Sylar took a deep breath, then looked up at her, his eyes glittering and intent, "I think I fell in love with you that day."

Claire gaped at Sylar. Did he really just tell her he loved her? Was this really happening? Who was this man standing before her? He wasn't the terrifying, cold, manipulative Sylar she'd first met, or even the smirking, playful Sylar she'd come to know.

The Sylar that stood before her now was nervous and vulnerable. Seeing him like this, Claire knew that despite everything he'd done, and no matter how hard he tried to hide behind his bad boy persona, deep down Sylar was still Gabriel, just without the glasses and sweater vest disguising his hotness. It was Gabriel looking at her now with a desperate hope in his eyes that hammered away at the crumbling walls she'd built around her heart.

"Did you just say what I think you said?"

"Yes," he said softly, then swallowed. Sylar took a deep breath, his eyes searching hers. His next words were spoken with an almost aggressive conviction, like he was daring her to doubt him. "I love you, Claire." He stepped closer and lightly traced her cheek with a trembling hand. "I want you . . . I'll want you forever." Then his lips were on hers and Claire lost control of herself. It was like lightning struck, sizzling away all rational thought.

The hand caressing her cheek slid through her hair to roughly hold the back of her head while the other snaked around her waist, pulling her forcefully against his body. When a startled gasp parted her lips, Sylar didn't hesitate to thrust his tongue into her mouth. He kissed her desperately, like a dying man about to be sent to the gallows. Instead of shoving him away, Claire gave in to the wild need coursing through her body, recklessly kissing him back.

All too soon, the exhilarating haze faded enough for Claire to force herself to break away from their kiss. He met her gaze with dark, hooded eyes as they both fought for air. She watched uncertainty spread across his features. He tightened his arms around Claire, like he was worried she'd bolt if he let her go.

Sylar had just poured his heart out to her. He deserved an answer, but Claire didn't know what her answer was. Did she have feelings for him? Could she? Was she pointlessly fighting the inevitable? Was Sylar her fate? Was that the reason for this insane pull she felt towards him?

Claire didn't want to think about fate. She didn't want to think about any of it, not when the possible answer to those questions was so frightening. Claire only wanted to feel, to let herself be swept away in the tidal wave of need crashing through her.

"Sylar . . ." she breathed out, his name a plea on her lips. Thankfully, Sylar didn't hesitate to answer it.

As if he could sense her crazed need for him, Sylar's kiss grew animalistic; it was intoxicating and unlike anything she'd ever experienced. It woke something fierce and primal inside Claire. She clutched frantically at him, grabbing his shoulders, pulling him closer, attacking his mouth. She bit his lip, hard, tasting his blood on her tongue as she plunged hers into his mouth. His choked grunt satisfied the animal growing inside her. Their tongues battled for dominance before she let him win, enjoying every second of it.

Sylar's lips moved to kiss along her jaw and down her neck as she gasped for air. "Claire. . ." her name was a ragged groan against her neck. Claire could only whimper in response as he captured her lips again.

**Author's Note:**

**I get so excited seeing my story traffic. Hundreds of people have already read chapter five, which is simply mind-boggling. However, only a handful of you have actually left reviews. I know you like it if you've read all the way to chapter five, so I'm going to shamelessly ask you to take a quick moment to leave me a review. **

**Not only do they make my day, reviews help me know what people are liking about the story, which influences how I write the next chapter. Reviews also give me motivation to work on the next chapter. I guarantee you that the more reviews I get the faster I will write and update. So please leave a quick review. Pretty please?**


	6. Chapter 6

When his eyes started to get heavy, Peter pulled off the highway at the next exit with a motel sign. He got them a room on autopilot, returning from the clerk's office to find Claire stepping out of the car. She stretched her arms up towards the night sky and yawned like a sleepy cat, giving him a glimpse of the tanned skin above the rim of her shorts.

Sylar startled him out of his leering by roughly tossing Peter his bag from the trunk. Sylar grabbed the other two while Peter unlocked the door. The room was drab but looked clean enough.

Peter threw the keys on the nightstand and dropped his duffle-bag on the floor. He rubbed a hand over his face, fighting a yawn. Exhausted, Peter was tempted to crawl into bed and pass out, but decided a quick shower to wash off the day's sweat would be worth it.

He was soon stepping under the spray of hot water, grateful to be momentarily free of the torture of trying to not look at Claire. He opened the little bottle of hotel shampoo and scrubbed his hair clean, then unwrapped the small square of soap. He lathered his body, appreciating the smell of fresh mint and the hot steam building up in the room. His mind wandered inevitably to thoughts of his breathtakingly beautiful niece.

She really was breathtaking. Claire had this dazzling white smile that could just light up a moment. Peter loved it when she smiled like that. It was like the world was suddenly a brighter, happier place, like he was inside a Disney movie and she was the princess. He could imagine her as Sleeping Beauty, waiting in a castle for her true love to wake her with a kiss.

He remembered from a cultural studies class that in an early version of the tale the prince had his way with her while she slept, and the princess didn't wake up until she was giving birth. Peter couldn't imagine fucking someone while they slept. Besides being immoral, they'd just be laying there. And it wouldn't say much for the man's sexual prowess if he didn't manage to even wake her up when he entered her.

The idea of waking Claire up with a deep thrust of his cock, however, now that sounded hot. Peter's hand began to stroke his hardening member. He could imagine the shocked look on her face as her eyes flew open and she gasped for breath, then the realization blossoming in her beautiful green eyes that Peter had just buried himself hilt-deep inside her.

Peter would stay buried inside her, giving her body time to adjust to his thick length. When Claire's pouty lips start to curve into a smile he'd slowly pull almost all the way out of her, then ease himself back in. He'd tease her with torturously slow thrusts until he had her begging him to fuck her faster, harder. He'd let her beg a little before giving in to her pleas to increase his pace.

He'd have her calling out his name in no time. Then he'd lift Claire's legs up over his shoulders so he could thrust into her roughly, fucking her hard and deep as she screamed out her first orgasm. He wouldn't slow or gentle his movement, he'd keep fucking her forcefully straight through her next orgasm. Then he'd flip Claire over, pull her up by her hips and enter her from behind. . .

Stifling a grunt, Peter had to steady himself with his left hand pressed flat against the tiled shower wall as the orgasm took over his body. When the delicious haze cleared, Peter realized with a jolt of harsh clarity what he'd just done. This was the first time he'd jerked off to the thought of Claire since he'd forced himself to stop after learning she was family. It was the first time he'd let himself come while thinking of her, knowing she was his niece.

Peter closed his eyes and let the hot water flow over his face, wishing it could cleanse him of his sinful thoughts. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he stop this sick obsession? He'd managed to block it out before. Of course, that was when he didn't have to deal with her tantalizing presence all day.

Wait. . . . that's it! The answer was so simple, he just had to get as far away from Claire as he could and see her as little as possible, if at all. He felt pretty sure that if he could just get away from her, he could stop these perverted fantasies from tormenting him. Out of sight, out of mind. She'd be confused and maybe hurt, but she'd be safe from him. It would ultimately be for the best.

The part of Peter that desperately wanted to preserve his moral integrity wanted to call a cab and leave right away, the sooner, the better. The rest of him knew he couldn't simply give up on their mission; and besides, he refused to leave Claire alone with Sylar.

He just had to make it through this road trip. A week and a half of this hell then he could stay away from Claire forever. How on Earth he'd manage to get through the next several days was beyond him. He'd barely got through one day of this. It hadn't even been 14 hours since Claire's dream that morning.

Peter finished his shower and toweled himself dry, preoccupied with brainstorming ways to deal with the rest of the road trip. He was pulling on his navy plaid flannel pajama pants when he heard something that changed everything.

It was Sylar's voice, just barely audible over the sound of the bathroom fan, "Claire . . ." It was something between a groan and a growl. It sounded disturbingly intimate. The whimper he heard next from Claire confirmed it. Now that he was paying attention, Peter could hear the sounds of ragged breathing and lips smacking.

Dear God, they're kissing! Right now. Fuck!

All noble thoughts of leaving Claire fled in the face of the jealous rage that consumed Peter in that moment. What could he do? He had to stop this . . . permanently. Aside from killing Sylar, Peter could only think of one sure way to keep Claire away from the bastard.

Peter tugged a white tee over his head, his heart and mind racing. He swiped a trembling hand across the fogged up mirror, clearing a jagged window. Facing his reflection in the mirror, Peter was taken aback by what he saw.

No, that couldn't be him. The man in the mirror looked crazed, his eyes dark, his breathing ragged and hands clenched into fists, his whole body taut as a bow preparing to strike. Could he really do this? Could he let himself be the man in the mirror, a man that commits incest with his own niece?

Peter wanted to say no, to have the strength to stop himself, but what choice did he have? He couldn't just sit on the sidelines and let Sylar have her. If she was going to be with one of her uncles anyway, then it damn sure was going to be him, NOT Sylar! Surely Peter was the lesser of two evils.

With that thought settled firmly in his mind, Peter turned to leave the bathroom, ready to finally make his move.

O o O o O

The sound of the bathroom door opening went off like a bomb in Claire's head, causing Claire and Sylar to burst apart in an instant. Claire hurried to open the duffle bag she'd set at the foot of her bed, intending to act as if she'd been casually unpacking.

She glanced up at Peter as he came out of the bathroom. He was glaring at Sylar. "Shower's free," he told Sylar in a tone that worried Claire. Oh god, did he suspect that they'd been kissing? Could he tell?

Before shutting the bathroom door, Sylar turned back and caught her eyes, his lips quirking into a seductive, mischievous grin. His parting wink made it impossible to contain her answering smile.

Claire dug around in her bag for a moment, concentrating on getting her breathing under control. She couldn't believe what had just happened. She'd actually made out with Sylar . . . and it was amazing!

Wondering when she'd have another opportunity to kiss Sylar, Claire didn't notice Peter standing behind her until he roughly grabbed her arm and spun her around. She reflexively tried to turn away, but Peter pulled her back to face him. His eyes were dark with a barely restrained violence that started to scare her.

"What the hell, Peter?" she managed to say.

"I know that there's something going on between you and Sylar," he accused, practically growling at her.

Claire swallowed, panic gripping her even harder than Peter was. "I . . . I don't know what you're talking about." Oh god, Peter knew!

"It's ok, Claire," Peter crooned, his voice now soft and tender. "I understand." Uh, what? Did she just hear him right?

"You understand?"

"You're scared. Of living forever. Of being alone for eternity. You think that because he's practically immortal too, Sylar can keep you company." Still gripping her arm, Peter leaned forward to whisper in her ear, "I have your power too, Claire. I could be the one that keeps you company for eternity."

His hand released her arm from its tight grip, then started to lightly stroke up and down her arm, giving Claire goose bumps. She felt his hot ragged breath on her neck.

"Peter . . ." Claire didn't know what to say to him. The implications behind the phrase "keep you company" were pretty obvious, right? She just couldn't believe that Peter was actually saying it. Sylar didn't care if he was her uncle, but she'd thought for sure that Peter would.

"Doesn't it bother you," Claire whispered back, "that we're related?"

Peter's hand stilled. He took a long moment before he answered her in a husky voice, "Not as much as it should."

Claire pulled back so she could see his face. Their eyes locked and the moment stretched out. Before she could decide what she wanted, Peter leaned forward. He pressed his lips to hers gently, lingering a moment before he pulled back, a question in his eyes. Claire answered by moving her lips to his.

A hand moved to cup the back of Claire's head while the other slipped around her waist to her lower back, pulling her body flush against his own. Peter licked her upper lip, gently requesting entrance. She opened her mouth for his tongue, and couldn't stop the whimper from escaping her throat as he deepened the kiss.

Claire couldn't believe this was actually happening. Peter was kissing her! Peter! This time it wasn't a mistake; there was no uncertainty about his intent. This time he really truly meant it. And it was wonderful.

After a few blissful moments, Peter pulled back with a crooked smile and a look of awe and relief in eyes. "I've wanted to do that for so long."

"Me too," she answered with a breathy laugh.

He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear while she struggled to catch her breath. "Peter, I had no idea that you'd ever. . . "

"I've always wanted you, Claire. From the moment I met you. I tried to fight it, I have but I . . . I can't let you be with Sylar."

The dreamy spell of the moment broke at those words. "Wait, what? This is all about not wanting me to be with Sylar?" Anger flared in her as she pulled away from his grasp. "You hate him so much that you're willing to seduce me yourself just to keep me away from him?"

"No! Claire, that's not what this is. I have always had feelings for you. I just never would have acted on them because of you being my niece. But if you're willing to cross that line with Sylar, then I thought that . . ."

"Oh, so because I'm willing to fuck one of my uncles you thought, 'Hey, why don't I give it a go too'?"

"Claire, that is not what . . . wait, you've already slept with him?" Peter shouted, "How could you?"

Outraged, Claire slapped Peter, hard. "It's none of your business what I do with my other uncle, now is it?"

"Claire!" Sylar burst with a shout out the bathroom door, his hair dripping wet, one hand clasping a towel around his waist. He stretched out his other hand to fling and hold Peter against the opposite wall.

He quickly reached Claire. She was shocked by the concerned expression on his face as he leaned close and asked gently, "Are you ok?" Looking up at Sylar, wet all over and out of breath, Claire realized that he must have sprinted out of the shower when he heard her slap and yell at Peter. It was surprisingly sweet how protective he was of her.

Claire looked over at Peter, across the room now and pinned to the wall, struggling against Sylar's invisible bonds.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Please let him go."

"Are you sure?" Sylar asked, his eyes focused completely on her, ignoring Peter's growl.

"I'm sure."

As soon as Sylar released him, Peter shot Sylar with a jolt of electricity that made him grunt in pain. With a growl, Sylar lifted has hand again to retaliate, but before he could, Claire stepped between them. She held him back with one hand on Sylar's slick wet chest, the other held out, palm up towards Peter.

"That's enough!" she shouted. "You are brothers and you better start acting like it!" She looked back and forth between them. They were both seething with anger and too damned sexy for her own sanity. She needed to get out of there. "I'm going for a walk."

Claire grabbed her jean jacket and headed for the door. Peter opened it for her and followed her out, shutting the door behind him. "Don't follow me Peter," Claire said without looking back as she set out into the parking lot, heading for the main road.

"But Claire, I need to explain. I . . . I never meant to imply that you were . . . "

Claire spun around. "That I was what?" She put her hands on her hips, her chin jutting up defiantly.

Peter closed the distance between them and took a deep breath, seeming to gather his thoughts. "I'm sorry that the way I approached you made it seem like my feelings for you are only some reaction to Sylar's behavior. The truth is . . . I am in love with you. It broke my heart when I found out that you were my niece." He looked away, jaw clenched, and Claire thought she saw the beginnings of tears.

Riveted, Claire watched Peter close his eyes, his pained expression penetrating the angry wall she'd set up around her heart. He took another deep breath, then turned a burning gaze on her, his next words coming out with a kind of fierce desperation.

"It's been a struggle for so long. And to be honest, unless you approached me first, I don't know if I'd ever have been able to act on it. But I do love you Claire. I always have. And I always will." He stepped closer, his eyes earnest as he continued in a whisper, "I want you to be mine, Claire. Always."

Claire sighed, all the anger and fight suddenly gone out of her. "I need some time to think Peter." He nodded, looking relieved that she wasn't angry at him anymore.

She turned and walked away into the night, though Claire felt more like running. She wanted to run far, far away from Peter, from Sylar, from the whole fucked up situation. As tears began to build up in her eyes, Claire gave in to her impulse and took off, running as fast as she could down the desolate road.

O o O o O

Taylor O'Brien sat in his van, munching sunflower seeds and taking sips from his lukewarm Mountain Dew. He didn't expect his quarry to emerge that night, but he'd parked across the street from the motel just in case.

He'd come so close to getting Claire that afternoon. The Petrelli kid walked off on his own after the corn eating contest, leaving Claire with his tall friend. Not long after, the girl was in line for the Port-o-Potty. As soon as she entered the plastic outhouse, the other guy took off running towards a shop they'd stopped at previously, to buy the girl a gift, presumably.

It was the perfect opportunity for Taylor to get the girl. He waited just outside of the Port-o-Potty for her to finish. That was his mistake. He should have just opened the door and grabbed her as soon as her friend ran off. But no, he wanted to give her a chance to finish peeing. By the time she opened the door to step out, the tall guy was just making it back from his little errand.

Taylor had let the perfect chance slip through his fingers, all because he didn't particularly want to deal with the girl pissing herself in his van. Stupid.

Angry at himself for fucking up such a golden opportunity, Taylor didn't notice Claire exit the motel room until Petrelli called her name. He watched, nearly breathless with excitement, as Petrelli and the girl had what looked like a lovers' quarrel. After a brief exchange between the two, the girl set off on her own.

Taylor couldn't believe his luck. As the girl's walk turned into a run, furthering the distance between Claire and her protectors, Taylor's face broke into a predatory smile.

**Author's Note:**

**If you write a review, I'll reply with a sneak peak into the next chapter . . .**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven:

A pale moon sat low in the sky, like an empty fruit bowl on the table of old oak trees framing the rural highway. A car passed, its bright headlights making her duck her head to hide her tears. Other than that, Claire was alone on an empty road in the middle of nowhere. It was quiet except for her sobs, the thuds of her sneakers against the dirt and the sound of crickets echoing through the sticky summer air.

Had she actually slapped Peter? She'd been so angry at him. Now she realized that it was because his words had forced her to confront the reality of her disgusting behavior with Sylar. She was sick. Seriously screwed up for wanting her uncles like she did. Both of them.

What the hell was she thinking? Making out with Sylar? And then Peter? Was she some kind of uncle-slut now? Grr . . . stupid annoying sexy uncles. Why do they have to be so freaking hot? They made Claire want something that she knew was very very wrong.

Somehow with Sylar, the wrongness of it didn't matter quite so much. Sylar was no angel. He'd always had his own take on morality. He didn't look down on her for considering him. He practically worshipped her. But Peter, even when he tried to seduce her, Claire could feel his disgust for what she was allowing. He made it feel dirty and wrong, which of course it was.

Maybe it had to do with feeling like she was corrupting Peter. It was one thing to allow Sylar to corrupt her, but to pull Peter into something that would surely break him? His goodness, his pure, heroic heart . . . it was special. Claire didn't want to be the cause of its torment.

Peter might think he can handle crossing the incest line now, when he's fueled by competition with the morally unrepentant Sylar, but what happens after this road trip is over? Will Peter be able to sneak around behind his family's back, lie to his brother while secretly having an affair with the man's daughter? The guilt Peter would feel every time he spoke to Nathan would eat him alive.

The idea of watching her beloved Peter slowly fall apart under the weight of their sin was horrifying. She couldn't do that to Peter, could she? But would he be any happier if she rejected him? And what about Sylar?

Claire slowed down and skittered to a halt, trying to catch her breath. She'd forgotten something, something important. Her keys? No, she didn't even need a key to their room since Sylar or Peter would just let her in. What the hell did she forget that was so important?

O o O o O

Sylar listened in escalating horror to the conversation going on outside the motel room. Fuck. Peter just told Claire he loved her. Fuck! This was way worse than Sylar had feared when he'd bolted out of the shower.

He'd thought Claire only slapped Peter for making accusations about them, but apparently Peter did a lot more than that. He'd actually grown some balls and made a play for Claire. This . . . this was a fucking disaster.

Sylar was disgusted with himself. Just two minutes ago he'd been feeling victorious, grinning in the shower like a love-struck idiot. If he'd just been thinking with a modicum of logic, he'd have had the sense to be patient in his pursuit. He could have courted Claire AFTER the road trip, when Peter wasn't around to fuck things up.

This was Claire's fault. He couldn't think clearly around her. She made his instincts flare up, pushing his strategic mind to the backseat when he obviously needed it most. Damn this power she had to make him weak!

And what the fuck did Claire mean, telling Peter she "needed to think"? What the hell did she have to think about? She'd already given in to Sylar. She'd kissed him like the world was ending. Technically, Claire didn't say she loved him back, but it was sure as fuck implied, damn it!

No, getting mad at Claire wasn't going to help anything. She had slapped Peter, after all. And she might have simply needed time to think of a way to turn Peter down without crushing him. Still, Peter had stepped up to the plate, ready to vie for Claire's heart. Sylar needed to fix this . . . fast.

O o O o O

Peter watched Claire walk away, the moonlight dancing with her golden hair. He was confused by the mix of emotions swirling around inside him. Peter felt euphoric, relieved, terrified—all at once.

He'd just jumped off the edge of a cliff and was currently in free-fall. There was nothing he could do now but wait to see what happened when he finally hit the ground. Would Claire come back from her walk ready to jump into his arms? Or would she pass by him on her way to Sylar?

With a deep sigh, Peter turned around and reached for the door handle, not looking forward to dealing with what he was sure would be an angry Sylar on the other side of the door.

As Peter expected, Sylar was waiting for him, arms crossed over his chest and towel tucked around his waist, still dripping water onto the motel carpet. With a sneer, Sylar began, "I've got to say Peter, I didn't think you had it in you . . . going after Claire, crossing the incest line."

Peter snorted derisively. Sylar had no right to lecture him about morality . . . or incest. "You're one to talk."

"Granted, but everyone knows I'm the bad guy. You're supposed to be the good guy, the hero."

Peter walked over to their bed and sat down facing away from Sylar, determined to ignore him. It was obvious Sylar was just trying to provoke him, and Peter refused to give him the satisfaction.

"I wonder what your big brother would say if he found out you were trying to fuck his teenage daughter?" Sylar persisted. "Do you think he could forgive something like that? I doubt it."

Sylar did have a point. How could he ever face Nathan after this? His brother would kill him if he ever found out. "Nathan would never have to know. We could keep it a secret."

"You could . . . if I agreed to go along with that, which I won't." Peter turned around to glare at Sylar as he continued, "I'll tell Nathan. I'll tell our dear mother. I'll tell_ EVERYONE _you fucking know that you are a sick, perverted uncle taking advantage of his naïve teenage niece!"

Peter shook his head. "No. You wouldn't do that. It would hurt Claire too."

Sylar looked like he'd just been slapped, giving Peter a small bit of satisfaction. He watched as Sylar paced back and forth a couple times before stopping, his finger pointed accusingly at Peter.

"What you don't seem to comprehend, Peter, is that Claire belongs with _ME_. _I _am her future."

There was a fire in Sylar's eyes that made Peter realize that he wasn't just dicking around with Claire. This wasn't a game to Sylar. The psycho actually thought he was in love with her. Peter narrowed his eyes at him. "If you really loved her, then you'd want Claire to be happy. You'd want what's best for her."

"_I_ am what's best for her!"

"How could you possibly think that?"

"Because I know you, Peter. I know that if you continue to pursue Claire, even if she goes along with it, you'll never be able to live with yourself. The guilt . . . it would destroy you, which would destroy her. Then I'd be the one left to pick up the pieces. Either way, she'll be with me in the end. Deep down, you must know that."

"No . . . I don't know anything." Peter released a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. What Sylar described, a future in which Peter's own guilt would eventually destroy Claire, destroy them both, it was all too easy imagine. How could he do that to Claire? Peter let out a brief, humorless laugh. "My God Sylar, this whole situation is so fucked up. She shouldn't be with either one of us."

Sylar didn't respond. After a long silence, Peter heard him return to his shower. Peter let the quiet of the room torment him a minute longer before scooting back to lean against the headboard. He propped a pillow up behind him and turned on the TV, seeking something mindless that he could escape into, if only for a few minutes.

He flipped through the channels, not staying on anything for long until he came across an episode of "Golden Girls." Four old ladies sitting on their patio in Florida, joking about Blanche's latest sexual conquest, Rose telling a ridiculous anecdote about her relatives, Dorothy coming in with her witty sarcasm, and her mother, the pint-sized old Sicilian with the sharpest wit of them all.

He remembered watching an episode of "Golden Girls" with his grandmother before she died. It was one of his few memories of her. She was drinking ice tea and watching the show while he worked on a jigsaw puzzle. One of the old ladies on TV said something that made his grandmother burst into hysterical laughter. He didn't know what she found so funny, but soon he joined in. Then they were both laughing about how they were laughing so hard. Peter smiled at the memory.

Peter was only a little kid at the time, but he remembered thinking that he wouldn't mind being old someday, because when old people laughed, they really meant it, unlike his parents, who never laughed, not for real.

Now he faced the possibility of eternal youth, something he never asked for, never even wanted. What if Claire chose Sylar? Peter would be alone forever.

It wasn't long before Sylar exited the bathroom, rubbing his hair dry with a towel. Sylar glanced up around the room and stopped dead. "Claire's not back yet?"

"No." Obviously.

"She should be back by now."

Peter rolled his eyes, his patience for Sylar paper-thin. "Give her some time to herself, Sylar. It's only been a few minutes."

His irritating brother started to pace. "No. It's been over twelve and a half minutes." Sylar surprised Peter by rushing past the bed to rummage through the duffle bag he'd left in the corner of the room. Peter sat up a bit, "What do you think you're doing?"

Ignoring the question, Sylar pulled a pair of jeans up over his boxers and shoved on a black t-shirt.

The paranoid freak was actually going to chase after her when all Claire wanted was a little privacy and some time to think. Peter knew that for Claire's sake, he had to talk Sylar out of this. He took a deep breath, yelling at Sylar wouldn't help Claire. "She has a lot she needs to think about, Sylar. We need to give her a little space." Not receiving any reaction, Peter continued, "She deserves that at least, after what we've put her through."

Fierce eyes locked with Peter's, "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is out there?" Sylar's concern for Claire's safety transformed Peter's irritation into empathy. He could certainly understand being worried for their niece.

Peter's voice softened. "We're in the middle of nowhere, Nebraska. She's probably just walking along the side of the road, enjoying the solitude. We've been cramped in a car for two days. I can sure as hell relate to needing a little breathing room, can't you?"

Sylar narrowed his eyes at Peter. "Scared to hear Claire's answer, brother?"

He felt Sylar's question like a punch in the gut. Peter wanted to deny it, but Sylar was right. Claire carried his fate in her hands. Her decision, her answer would change everything for him. Ten minutes from now Peter would either be in utter agony or sinful bliss.

Sylar slipped into his black converse sneakers, tying the laces with telekinesis as he reached for the door. "Which way did she go Peter?"

Would Claire choose Sylar over him? What would he do if that was her answer?

"Peter! Left or right?"

Ready for Sylar to be out of his face, Peter relented. "Right. She was headed to the" . . . but Sylar was already out the door.

O o O o O

Sylar didn't hesitate to slam the door behind him. He walked out into the motel's nearly empty parking lot, his eyes swiftly scanning the area for Claire. He headed toward the road, his quick steps becoming a jog.

He tried to tell himself that Peter was right and that Claire was fine, but there was something inside him that knew Claire was in danger. Some primal instinctive sense was screaming at Sylar to protect his mate. Claire needed him, and she needed him NOW.

Sylar hit the empty road at a run, his steps loud smacks on the pavement. "Claire!" he shouted desperately. "Claire!"

He couldn't run fast enough. That blonde girl that showed up in his cell at Primatech with a business card before running off in a blur of movement, blowing wind in her wake . . . why the hell didn't he try to kill that bitch when he had the chance? Then maybe he could get to Claire in time . . .

**AUTHORS NOTE: If you leave a review I'll reply with a sneak peek of the next chapter . . .**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight:

Peter turned off the TV and laid back on the uncomfortable motel bed. Did he just make a huge mistake letting Sylar go after Claire? Should he go look for her too?

No, Claire said she needed time to think. She'd be pissed if he ran after her like a crazed lunatic. Let Sylar be the one to make that mistake. Claire was probably yelling at him right now. Or kissing him again. Damn it.

What if they came back to the room holding hands and smiling – all lovey-dovey? Or they could come in separately, but casting secretive longing glances at each other, filling the room with sexual tension thick enough for Peter to choke in.

The best case scenario would be Sylar walking in first, sullen and heartbroken, followed by a smiling Claire, who immediately launches herself into Peter's waiting arms, kissing him passionately. Peter chuckled at that thought.

But seriously, how was this going to work? Would Claire stand awkwardly in front of them, delivering the news to them both? Or would she ask to talk to Peter separately? Had she already given Sylar her answer? Did she even have an answer yet?

No matter what, the next few minutes would alter Peter's life forever. As long as Sylar doesn't walk in with a gloating smirk on his face, Peter would have hope.

Of all the things Peter imagined might happen when they returned, Peter never expected Sylar to burst through the door, out of breath, crazed panic in his eyes.

Sylar threw up his right hand toward Peter, using his telekinesis to pull him from the bed to his feet. Once Peter was standing in front of Sylar, he released Peter from his invisible hold.

Too shocked to react, Peter stood there trying to grasp what had gotten into Sylar. A punch in the face broke Peter out of it. Clenching his jaw, Peter punched him right back, but Sylar was unfazed.

"This is your fault!"

"What?"

"You upset her. She would have been here and safe if you'd just backed off."

"What are you talking about?"

"Claire! She's gone. She was attacked on the road. He fucking took her and it's all your fucking fault!"

No, no that didn't happen. Claire was fine. Sylar was lying, he had to be. Or this was some sick joke Sylar was trying to play on him.

Sylar thrust Claire's jean jacket at Peter. It was covered in dirt. She was wearing this . . . "Use my clairescience ability Peter. The jacket will show you what happened."

Though Sylar had powers that Peter wouldn't mind using himself, Peter hated the thought of how he got those powers. So he didn't absorb them from Sylar if he could help it. He didn't even like to use the telekinesis he got from Sylar when they'd fought in Mohinder's apartment.

Telekinises was obviously Sylar's favorite power, which made Peter want nothing to do with it. It didn't help that Sylar was better at using it, stronger with it. At least Sylar didn't get Elle's electricity power. Peter enjoyed throwing painful volts at the fucker.

When did Sylar get, what did he call it, clairescience? And from who? Peter tightened his fists; it didn't matter who Sylar had to kill for it; Claire could be in danger. Peter closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the jacket he clutched in his hand. Nothing happened at first, then it came, playing like a movie in his head.

_Claire running down the dark road, crying into the quiet night. Her footsteps slowing to a halt. A man's arms grabbing her from behind. Claire's scream. The man's grunt of pain from her kick to his knee. Claire desperately trying to free herself. _

_A few steps of freedom before the man catches hold of her wrist. Claire struggling out of the jacket he still held tight in his fist. The man running after her, tackling her from behind. _

_Dust kicked up by the struggle blocked Peter's view of them, but he could hear the sound of duct tape ripped from a roll and the muffled protests Claire made after the tape was over her mouth. A glimpse of Claire tossed over the shoulder of the man as he carried her to the back of his vehicle. _

_More sounds of tape ripping, Claire stuggling, something slamming shut, locks clicking into place. The dust cleared enough for Peter to make out the man shutting the back door of his van and walking quickly towards the driver side door. Seconds later the van was speeding off into the night, leaving nothing but Claire's jacket behind._

When the images stopped coming, Peter's eyes blinked open, but remained unfocused. His mind couldn't break through the shifting haze of horror, rage and denial consuming him. Claire was . . . she was . . No! She can't be gone. This can't be happening.

It was Sylar pulling the car keys through the air off the nightstand into his waiting hand that finally pulled Peter back to the moment.

"Come on, we need to hurry," Sylar said over his shoulder as he ran out the door.

Peter heard the engine roar to life. He looked down at himself, wearing only his t-shirt and flannel pajama pants. Should he bring his jacket? Where were his shoes?

"Peter! Get your head out of your ass and get in the fucking car NOW!"

Sylar's shout pierced through the disturbing haze in Peter's head. This was really happening. Claire was attacked. We need to find her. Save her! Peter ran out the door barefoot. The passenger door was open wide for Peter to just barely make a running leap into the car as it peeled out of the lot. He pulled the door shut and roughly settled into his seat.

The tires squealed against the pavement as Sylar took a hard right onto the highway. Sylar's eyes stayed focused on the road ahead while he asked in a tone that seemed strangely calm, "You can still fly, right?"

"Oh, um, yeah, I can."

"Then do it."

"Oh, right." Peter couldn't believe he hadn't thought to do that already. He opened the car door, hesitating briefly before Sylar's shout of, "NOW!" prompted Peter to launch himself from the moving car.

The familiar feeling of disorientation and slight nausea that came from defying gravity fell away as Peter propelled himself high above the trees, looking for the van of the dead man that took Claire.

O o O o O

Claire had been such a clueless idiot—thinking she was so strong and powerful. She actually thought her healing ability made her a hero, but she was wrong.

Her ability could do nothing to stop the attack, nothing to help her fight him off, nothing to help her escape. The power that had made Claire feel invincible was useless, leaving her just as infuriatingly helpless as any other girl stupid enough to run off on her own at night down a dark, empty road.

She fought him, of course. She kicked and elbowed and screamed bloody murder, but in the end, Claire lost. Now she was trapped in a box in the back of some psycho's rape-van.

Her ankles were wrapped tight together with duct tape, as were her wrists. If he'd used handcuffs, Claire could have broken her hands to slip free, her ability quickly healing them, but the bastard used duct tape. If he'd wrapped her wrists up in front of her body, she could have tried to use her teeth to rip the duct tape off, but no, he wrapped them behind her back and stuffed her in a box too small to dislocate her shoulders and slip them over her head.

Pulling as hard as she could did nothing. The duct tape was impossible to break. Who the hell invented this stuff? Claire wondered how many people had been raped or killed because they couldn't free themselves from the evil silver tape. Probably hundreds, no . . . thousands over the years.

And now duct tape had claimed its latest victim, the supposedly invincible ex-cheerleader Claire Bennet. The girl that survived fire, deadly falls, bullet wounds, even a freaking autopsy, was finally taken down by ordinary duct tape.

Claire couldn't even maneuver to get the tape off her mouth. Her muffled screams for Sylar and Peter went unanswered. Two of the most powerful specials in the world were just a short run away, waiting in the motel she'd left them in. They were so devastatingly close, but apparently not close enough to hear her screams.

She could tell from the noise and vibrations that the van was driving, each mile taking her further away from her uncles. As the minutes passed by without rescue, the desperate hope that they were about to save her slowly bled out of Claire.

How could this have happened to her? After everything she'd been through in the past year, it seemed absurd for her to fall victim to something so ordinary, a crime that had absolutely nothing to do with evolved humans with crazy superpowers. Some sick stranger sees her running alone on the side of the road and decides to kidnap her. Claire was just some random girl who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

What was he going to do to her? Rape her probably. Why else would he kidnap her? After what almost happened with Brody, Claire had sworn to herself she'd never let something like that happen again. But here she was, facing something that could be so much worse.

Claire remembered from some news special that if you're taken by an abductor to a second location, it's like a ninety nine percent chance you'll be killed. So after he violates her, he'll probably try to kill her. Will he leave her for dead before noticing her body heal itself? Would she have a chance to escape? What if she can't get free and he figures out her ability?

Oh God, he could lock her up in a basement dungeon to torture, rape and kill her over and over again for days, weeks, even years! Claire's ability would make her the perfect victim. Tears streamed down Claire's cheeks as the true horror of her situation began to sink in.

People would look for her, but in a few years she'd be just another missing person, presumed dead by the world. Only, she wouldn't be dead. Claire's suffering wouldn't end until her kidnapper died. And that could be decades away. At least then it would be over . . . unless he sold her to some other sick freak.

Chills ran up her spine as it occurred to Claire for the first time exactly how horrible her immortal life could be. She could be passed along from one evil man to another, her torment never-ending.

Adam Monroe lived for over four hundred years. That could be her. She could live forever, not as a hero, but as a helpless victim, imprisoned in her own ageless body, locked away and violated, abused, tortured forever. Her ability wasn't a superpower . . . it was a terrible curse.

The duct tape over her mouth made it hard to get enough air as Claire's body shuddered with sobs. Despair filled up the box she was crammed in, stealing her breath. She hated this, hated the fear and self-pity that was suffocating her. Claire hated feeling helpless and weak. And she hated the man that had taken her and made her feel this way.

Anger flared up in Claire, giving her the strength fight against the despair. Her fate wasn't sealed yet. She still had a chance that she could escape. She still had reason to hope. She still had . . . Sylar.

A wave of peace washed over Claire at the thought of him. If she didn't have duct tape over her mouth right now she'd be smiling. Claire wasn't going to spend her eternal life as an eternal victim. She knew without a doubt in her mind that Sylar would never let that happen.

Sylar will find her. He'll never stop looking, never give up. He will do whatever he has to: lie, cheat, steal, maim, kill. Whatever it takes. Sylar will come for her. Claire just needed to have faith in him and hope he found her before her kidnapper had a chance to open the box.

O o O o O

Neil Hakon stepped outside his office, drawing in a deep breath of fresh air. Constellations named for ancient Greek heroes lit up the sky above the trees and cabins of the five acre compound his father built.

He looked out across the central courtyard with pride. About twenty camouflage clad recruits stood in lines, led through their evening drills by his loyal lieutenant, Troy Evans. These were the new heroes, the brave young warriors that would save his people.

Ten years ago Neil would have been one of them, fresh out of high school, eager to prove that he was more than just his father's son. Life was so simple then.

The phone vibrating in his pocket startled Neil out of his reverie. Seeing the caller, Neil's heart began to race. He took a deep breath, trying not to get his hopes up. "O'Brian?"

"Target acquired sir," Taylor reported, a smug grin clear in his tone.

With those three words, the uncertainty that had weighed heavily on Neil since learning of Petrelli's involvement with Claire fell from his shoulders. "Well done, soldier. Bring her home to us."

"Yes sir. I'm on my way."

Returning the phone to his pocket, Neil's mouth stretched wide into a triumphant smile. His plan was going to work.

The recruits' voices rose up in a chant that echoed through the courtyard, giving him chills. "Sieg Heil! White Power! Sieg Heil! White Power!" Neil closed his eyes, savoring the beautiful moment. With Claire in hand, Neil's great destiny lay before him, finally within his grasp.

**Author's Note: If you leave a review, I'll reply with a sneak peek of the next chapter! I'll also send you a little EXTRA something that was cut a long time ago and will NEVER be published . . . but I think you'll enjoy it!**


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